


Being his Personal Assistant

by dandelionpower



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cheating, Dubious Ethics, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Mostly Fluff, Prostitution(sort of but not really you will understand while reading), Romance, Slow Build, very very light Dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-21 17:50:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 135,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionpower/pseuds/dandelionpower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You were really excited about your new job on The Hobbit, you've been hired to be the personal assistant of one of the cast members, an actor named Dean O'Gorman. But maybe you should have read more carefully the little invisible characters in your contract because one day you realize that your job doesn’t only imply serving coffee and go shopping for your boss. In fact, he seems to expect bit more than that ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Deer in the Headlights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bridgette](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Bridgette).



> This story is only the fruit of my depraved imagination and has nothing to do with the real actors and their real life. It is entirely fictional. Enjoy!
> 
> Please comment, I like to read you !

 

This is a new job and you want to do everything right, but there  are those blue eyes darting across your face and their owner listens to your mundane report as if it was a fascinating theater play. You pull the edge of your dress down, anxious about it being too revealing. You clear your throat while take a look at your list to make sure you don’t forget anything as you hand M r . O'Gorman his shirt.

“I took it to the  laundry  today,” you inform your boss. “I went to the art shop but the canvas you wanted were backorder so I ordered some,  I will go get them in two days when they  are  delivered. I also bought coffee, dark chocolate bars and beer and I put it in the fridge as you demanded,” you add, gesturing toward the little fridge in a corner of the trailer. “Is there  any thing else you want me to do before I leave sir?”

Then, you wait for his answer, standing straight and smiling: the perfect personal assistant. The blue eyes shif t  from your face to scan the interior of the trailer, as if searching for something else to ask you.

You ’ve been working for Dean O’Gorman for three weeks now and everything's  been going fine … at least you hope you are doing good. You see this as a god-sent job opportunity to replenish your empty wallet and you give the very best of yourself so your boss sees you as someone reliable. You always make sure to arrive on set ten minutes in advance, with coffee to give him before he sits for the make-up. Sometimes you worry that you actually might look a little overzealous, but Mr O’Gorman seems to be satisfied. He thanks you often with that gorgeous smile of his that makes your heart flutter and your face blush too easily.

You were very lucky to get this job because, at first, you applied to be Rob Kazinsky's assistant. You even got an interview with him and Peter Jackson but they didn't choose you. When Rob Kazinsky left, Peter Jackson hired Mr O’Gorman to replace him. Mr O’Gorman had to choose an assistant as quickly as possible so he  was  given the list of potential candidates who applied to work for Kazinsky. Since the filming had already been going for a while, they didn’t have time to make interviews again, but Mr O’Gorman chose you over all the other young women who sent their CVs and photos. You had already given up on the dream of working on the Hobbit set after the first failed interview, but when you got the phone call, you couldn’t help a happy waltz around your living room, with a cushion as a dancing partner. Even if this is your first time as an assistant on a movie set and that you are not exactly confident about your skills, you were so enthralled by the idea of meeting actors and see ing all the great costumes, weapons and locations. You accepted the job and signed the contract without asking any questions. When you put your pen down on the desk, next to the contract, you could feel in the pit of your stomach, that characteristic tingle, the one you get when the theme park employee latches the door of the rollercoaster ride and presses the start button.   

You arrived on the set one day before your new boss did so you took the time to  see visit the studios and see how the other assistants were working. One of the first things you observed was that they always addressed their bosses as « Mister » with his last name or « sir » and you decided you were going to follow their example. After all, they all seemed more experienced than you are. During the lunch break, you chatted a bit with two female assistants who were taking a break outside between two takes.  The ones with whom you spoke had at least one previous experience  as a personal assistant on a movie set. You also realized that they were referring to their boss es as « my master » or « the master » without any trace of joke or sarcasm, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You found it a little odd at first since the way they said it didn’t make it sound like a running gag. Your curiosity prompted you to ask the reason for that habit. “It’s not like we are not servants in a thirteenth century castle!“, you couldn’t help but poin t  out to them. “You will soon discover that we are very much like medieval servants” answered Jessica, a tall and friendly brunette: M r. Turner's assistant. She pat ted your shoulder as the others laughed knowingly. “But shhh, it’s a secret, though. You must never call them that way when they can hear you.”

You nodded mutely, wondering if that little conspiracy was a Tolkien reference you wouldn’t have gotten already. 

Jessica had crushed her cigarette butt under her elegant leather boots as she detailed you with curiosity. “So, you’ve been hired by the new actor who arrives tomorrow, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Is it true that you ha ve n’t even met him face to face yet or is it just another on-set rumor?” she wondered.

"It's true," you simply replied.

Rosalyn, an athletic ginger-haired scot girl in her mid-thirties, M r . Armitage's assistant, gave you a compassionate look. “You are courageous to accept to work for a man you never even talked to. I hope you’ll find him attractive enough and that he’ll be kind and patient with you.  It is  your first time as an assistant, isn’t it?”

You had to frown at her mark of concern. What an odd comment to make. What did your boss’ physical appearance ha ve  to do with it?  “It doesn’t really matter to me what my boss looks like, as long as he is satisfied of my work.” 

Jessica chuckled. “Yeah, maybe, but you must admit it helps doing the job when the master is easy on the eye. Don't you agree, Ros? ». Rosalyn agreed quietly, a strange smile floating on her lips as her eyes searched for M r. Armitage who was busy chatting with a group of cast members  on the other side of the studio's parking.

You glimpsed at M r . Turner, who was standing next to Ros' boss. "You two certainly hit the jackpot. Your bosses are more than good looking." Richard Armitage was indeed majestic in every way and the young Irishman was the living incarnation of ‘tall, dark and handsome’: a real wild beauty.

"You can look, but don't touch! He's mine!" Jessica replied. At first you weren’t sure if she was joking. She smiled, but there was a gleam of possessiveness in her eyes. "By the way, when is your own specimen supposed to be delivered?" she inquired.

After a moment of puzzlement, you sniggered when you figured out she was talking about your boss. "We are supposed to meet tomorrow morning."

"Good luck then!" Ros wished you.

The break finished and they had to go back to their bosses’ side. You stayed there, a little confused by the conversation you just had, convinced that there was an important thing you failed to understand.

It was the morning after that you met your “master” for the first time. Of course, even if you said his looks didn't matter, you Googled him as soon as you had gotten the job. You were pleased to see he was quite handsome; with lively blue eyes, blond hair that tends to curl and a manly jawline. You also learnt he had appeared in a show with Ryan Gosling in his youth and played gay guys in three different movies.  _ “At least, he won’t be a homophobic asshole _ ,” you had thought with relief. You found out he also played a Norse God in a show called The Almighty Johnsons. You rushed to a website selling movies and series and bought the DVD. You decided to watch at least one episode before meeting him, in hope it would give you conversatio n  topics to break the ice. You had nearly choked  o n your popcorn when he appeared on the screen in all his naked glory at the beginning of the very first episode… That was promising, and oh sweet god, that butt was a gorgeous one!! You ended up binge watching the whole first season in one night.

 

When he entered the room for your first meeting, you genuinely tried to erase the images of his behind from your mind and keep focused on the job, which you did, with a reasonable amount of success. You heart was still hammering hard in your chest when the door opened and he walked in. His nose, that made the exploit of being both long and round at the same time, gave him a mischievous air, but right now your attention was rather focused on the well-drawn arc of his lips and the delicious dimples framing them. He looked decidedly younger than his thirty five years of age. He stopped in his tracks for a split second; long enough to give you a shamelessly appraising look, from head to toes. You blushed hard being scrutinized that way,  feeling naked under his gaze. He seemed pleased with what he saw.

“Hi there,” he said with a wide smile as he reached you, outstretching for a handshake, his voice deep and friendly.

“Yes !” you managed to say without stuttering, before realizing that the proper answer should have been “hi” and not “yes”. “Nice to meet you M. O’Gorman!” your hastened to say, your face turning crimson, to your despair.

“Pleasure’s all mine,“ he answered as he shook your hand firmly. His palm and fingers were warm and soft.

You cursed yourself for being so helpless and hav ing inappropriate thoughts about your boss seconds after having met him. “ _ Calm down, you are really pathetic _ ” you told yourself “ _ keep it cool, he just gave you a handshake, he didn’t propose for god's sake _ !”.

Luckily, it appeared that Mr O’Gorman was a laidback, funny and relaxed guy and it took you only a couple minutes to feel completely at ease in his presence.  So, right now, three weeks later, you can actually look at him, waiting for him to let you go after your day of work without feeling yourself getting flushed and melting on the floor every time he looks at you.

You give him your "to do" list and he rereads in silence. He finally meets your eyes again with an appreciative nod: “Perfect, thank you very much for everything”.

“I can make another list for tomorrow,” you suggest.  “You just have to tell me what the priorities are.” 

“We’ll take care of it tomorrow; I think we can call it a day,” he decides. “You deserve to relax a bit." He smiles, staring at you through his blond lashes. "Maybe I can help you with that. I was just wondering if…” he trails off and then pauses. There is something hesitant in his demeanor. He stands  up from the trailer’s couch and walks toward you. Suddenly the air is charged with electricity, just like before a thunderstorm and you start worrying if you are about to be  stricken  by a lightning bolt.  He moves closer. You can’t tear your eyes away. You’re like a deer in the headlights, just before the deadly impact.

He stops only a foot away from you and stands _very much_ in your personal space. He ha s never been so close to you intentionally. The smell of his aftershave reaches your senses. It’s warm, like a long hug or a spicy tea after a day under the rain. To your utter astonishment, he takes your hand gently and lifts it to his mouth. He leaves a light kiss on one of your knuckles, never breaking the eye contact, and you feel the sensation of his lips spreading in all your body like a bushfire. “I was just wondering if I can ask you to…” he begins in a whisper. The low and husky tone of his voice makes you suspect what he is about to ask and your heart is speeding like the one of the proverbial deer. You hope you are wrong, though.  

He takes a deep breath. “I mean… If you would fancy…staying the night with me.”   

You are frozen on the spot, not able to make a sound, your eyes wide with surprise. This is far worse than being hit by a lightning bolt in fact.  _ What the f**k did just happen? _ Is your boss actually asking you to sleep with him? It's like Christmas in advance and your worst nightmare at the same time.

He runs his fingers through your hair, tucking a few strands behind your left ear and his fingertips caress your cheek. “You confessed it was your first time on a job like that, that’s why I waited for three weeks," he admits.  "I hope you don’t feel offended that I waited so long. It’s not that you are not attractive, quite the contrary. I think you are positively gorgeous but I didn’t want to rush things."

You’re still not able to move. " _ What the hell is he talking about _ ?"  

He gets closer to whisper directly in your ear. "But you are very beautiful today and I bet this dress would look even better on my bedroom floor.” The quality of the pick-up line is questionable, but his breath  is  warm and wet against your ear shell and that definitely ha s its effect on you. “Don’t be afraid, I will be gentle with you tonight, very gentle. I want you to feel good and I will make sure you enjoy it as much I do.”

His eyes are lustful when they me et yours and you wonder for a second if he do es n't have Bragi's powers for real because you feel hypnotized. His stare drops from your eyes to your lips while he licks his own and you know what he is about to do. And that just can’t happen. You can’t let it happen. You step back and escape his embrace before he can kiss you.

At the second he feels your body stiffen, he steps back as well, his hands in front of him in a defensive gesture, as if he is afraid you are going to slap him.

"I’m not going to sleep with you!” you exclaimed, disconcerted. “You.are.my.boss," you remind him, still shaken and separating each syllabl e as if he's too dumb to understand. It's not entirely true, of course you want to sleep with him, who wouldn't? It's just.... you cannot do that, not like that. Not with him using his authority to get you into his bed. You'll have to work together for the next year and a half. This is definitely the wors t idea in the history of ideas. "I can't do that, it's wrong" you add for emphasis, your voice high-pitched with emotion.

He runs a hand across his face. "It's because I'm not Rob, isn't it ? " he asks, visibly hurt. "I know I'm not that attractive. I'm short and have th e se ridiculously small hands. I have a weird nose, too long for my face. I have those two moles on my left cheek and I have to sport a beard for the shooting. Women generally don't like beards much, do they? At least the beard hides my left cheek.  I'm not very muscular too, I don't have a six pack. I know it's not me you wanted: you wanted Rob Kazinsky. I know I'm not as handsome as him, or as Aidan or Richard, and I'm sorry about that but I thought, because of the way you look at me, the way I make you blush sometimes, that I had at least a little effect on you. I'm sorry I misinterpreted your signs." He seems really sorry and it's cute in a way but you don't know how to react without making the situation even more awkward. “I shouldn’t have come on so strong,” he regrets. You can hear in his voice how much he feels rejected.

"I think I should go", you blur t  out, failing to remove the panicked edge  from your voice. You grab your jacket and take a few steps to the door. You look back at him for a second and he seems so humiliated and miserable you feel a pang of guilt.

"Good evening, sir" you add, but you don't wait for an answer and you get out as fast as you can.

You walk home, trying to gather back your wits. What was that? What happened? It's something he said you cannot erase from your mind. What did he mea n by  _ "it’s your first time on a job like that, that’s why I waited three weeks, I didn't want to rush things." ? _ Was he e xpecting you to sleep with him just because you are his assistant? That's crazy.

It's six o'clock when you arrive  at  you tiny flat near the studios. You are definitely not hungry so you open your laptop to read some fanfiction and listen to music to distract you from thinking about your master, about his eyes, his hands on you, his lips close to yours, his scent … and the painful look he gave you and the way he said he was not beautiful enough for you. Bullshit! He is far too attractive for your own sake. If he wasn't that sexy, you would not be there, torturing yourself, thinking of what could have happen ed if you had let him kiss you.

At nine, your phone buzzes and the screen indicates you've receive d a new text. You are internally praying all the living gods that it's not your boss because you have a hard time dealing with him in your head, you don't want to have to deal with him in reality too. Not now. Not so soon after the … How should you even qualify what happened? The misunderstanding? The event? Yeah. That’s more neutral. Let’s call it “the event”.

It's not him, it's Jessica. You sigh in relief. You and she became friends since you see each other on the set when your masters are shooting scenes together… and Fili and Kili are always together. In fact you realize you've received three texts from her. You had your headphones on and your music was probably too loud and you haven't notice d the first two.

_ JessS - 7:32PM -We must talk, right now ! R u home ?  _

_ JessS- 7:34PM -I don't mind if you are busy. I pick Ros up and we are at your place in ten min.  _

_ JessS- 7:48PM -Answer your damn door, I know you’re there. I can hear you. No need to hide: we already know what u did. _

That's when you hear the angry knocks. With a sigh, you get up and you go answer your door.

"We must talk!" Jess says with a fierce look on her face, rushing into your apartment, followed by Ros.

"I know, you've already said that." you grunt. That was not in your plans to deal with her drama queen attitude tonight, you had enough trouble for one day.

As if she's readin g y our thoughts, Ros gently pats your shoulder. "I know it's not pleasant, but we are here to help you deal with what happened today between you and Mr. O’Gorman."

"First of all, how do you know about that at all?" You have a hard time keeping your composure. You take a chair for yourself and the girls sit on your couch.

Jessica rolls h er eyes, visibly annoyed. "I was in the middle of a really nice make-out session under the shower with my godly gorgeous master when yours called. Mine interrupted what we were doing to get out of the shower and answer his phone because 'It must be Deano' he said, the bastard. M r . O'Gorman told him what happened between you and him and M r . Turner asked me if I could talk to you because he was very worried for his mate, that's why we are here. "

For the span of a few second, you stay speechless. "Wait a minute, you were doing what?” You’re still stuck at the part where she admitted she was getting freaky under the shower with her own boss. “You are together now? Since when?" you ask, astonished by the news. You didn’t know they were seeing each other. You should have guessed it, giving the way she looked at him sometimes, but still, she never said anything about a relationship. 

But instead of answering, she looks at Ros; "That's what I told you in the car: she is completely clueless about what's going on between us and our dear masters!"

Your gaze shifts to Ros’ face. "Please, tell me you’re not having sex with your boss too !" you beg. She blushes and avoids looking your way. The face she’s pulling is speaking volume.

"Oh my god! Are you kidding me?! You actually do!" you exclaim.

The pink shade of her cheek darken s  even more under her freckles. "I… uh.. of course I sleep with him! M r . Armitage is a very talented lover and I have nothing to complain about." She gives you a hurt look. "You say it  as if I was doing something wrong" she reproaches you.

"YES BECAUSE IT  _ IS _ WRONG!" you want to shout. You have the impulse to start searching for the hidden camera: but the first of April was a month ago and the way the two girls look at you now, with a mix of puzzlement and pity, tells you that they are not playing you. You stutter something like: "I… I'm sorry.. I just … I'm so lost…"

"That why we have to start from the beginning" Jessica decides, "obviously you didn't ha ve the  _ talk  _ with Peter, which is weird because it's your first time as an assistant, all the beginners have  _ the talk _ to make sure they all understand what their job really implies before signing their contract."

"I think it's because I lied a little  i n my CV. I wrote that I've already work ed as a PA on a TV show in England. " you confess, ashamed. "But I wanted this job so much !”

"That's ok, we’re not blaming you, sweetheart,” Ros reassures you, “but now we must find a way to fix things between you and your master, at least if you want to keep your job."

A sudden surge of anger makes you grit your teeth. "You think he will fire me if I refuse to let him fuck me like I’m his whore?" you snap.

"No, that's not what I said," Ros replies softly. "I don't think he'll fire you, but we exist for a reason and it's not only to help them lear n their lines, take their appointments for the dentist or wash their clothes when they are too busy. Directors and producers know that if they want to keep their actors focused on their job they must provide them a safe way to relieve their tensions. They know it's not healthy for grown men to stay too long without ... close human contact."

"But, it's prostitution!!!" you protest. “I don’t want to be some kind of-“

"No, it's not prostitution," Jess cuts you off, visibly annoyed with your defensive attitude. "We are not paid for that part of our job. We’re doing it because we want to and because we enjoy it. Think about it: you can live the dream of a lot of fangirls, even if it's just for a while. "

“We are not here to force you into something you don't want, okay?" Rosalyn tries to reassure you again. "If you don't want to do that, you can break your contract and leave. Mister O’Gorman will find another assistant. I bet there are  hundreds of girls who are more than willing to take your job. The other option is to stay here and embrace every pa rt of what it means to be a PA. I don’t mean that you have to be in his bed tonight. But we’ve been observing him since he’s here. He’s a good man.”

Ros throws a side glance at Jess who picks up where she left. ” Yes, he’ll be a good master,” the brunette agrees. “I’m sure Aidan wouldn’t have befriended him if he wa s a n asshole. Those two are very much alike, and believe me: Mr. Turner is a real joy, in and out of bed. Should you ch o ose to stay, I’m positive Mr O’Gorman will treat you right. All you have to do now is to learn to appreciate him in a way that the next step, the physical step I mean, will be easy to make. Of course, there is also the third option…”

“What is the third option?” you ask and chew on your lower lip as you wait for the answer.

“The third option is to stay and keep on denying him what he wants,” Ros supplies, “but your relationship will be growing more awkward each day and, as I understood, you already hurt his pride today."

You sigh. You don’t exactly regret the way you reacted, but remembering his pitiful face makes you sad.

"Yeah, you've broke n rule number two, you naughty girl" Jess scolds you.

"Rule number two? There are rules on top of that?" you ask sulkily.

"Yes there are rules, and this is about time  for you to learn about them,” she insists. “They are not written anywhere but every personal assistan t  know them."

Ros nods silently as Jess begin s:

"Rule number one: No public displays of closeness. There are two things that must never get out of his bedroom: kisses and his first name. Never exchange kisses in public; he can kiss you in every way he wants in the intimacy of his trailer or bedroom, but nowhere else. And you can call him by his first name when you have sex together, if he allows it of course, but never in other circumstances. If I can advise you, keep up with "sir" all the time. Anyway, most of those actors are kinky bastards with big egos who like being called "Mister" during sex. Just never call him by his first name in public.

Rule number two, the one you broke: Do not make him feel guilty: never. Never tell him that it's wrong for a boss to sleep with his employee. It may be true in most jobs but not in ours. You can refuse his advances when you are not in the mood but never try to make him feel guilty. Never talk about his girlfriend or wife if he has one, act like she doesn't exist and he'll probably do the same. "

"That's a lot of nevers,” you point out.

"Yeah and it's not over. Rule number three: The public must never know about that. They don't know about the hidden part of our job and it's better this way. When the filming is over, go home and forget your master's name. Do not try to contact him. Never talk about your previous jobs anymore: actors have reputations to preserve and this is also our job to help them with that."

"So we are their dirty little secret …" you grunt.

"Yeah, sorry. It's how things work in our world,” Jess asserts without mercy. “Now Rule number four, the most important of all: No ‘I love you’ and no ‘I miss you’. Never get that close to a master. NEVER fall in love."

"Why ?" you can’t help asking.

"Because it will lead you directly to a heartbreak. We are servants: you said it yourself, remember? It's the sad truth. It will never be us on the red carpet, wearing beautiful Chanel dresses, accompanying our handsome actors, because red carpets are for queens and we are no queens, we are servants. It's our fate to stay in the shadows." By the look she is giving you, you can tell that she knows what she is talking about. She has certainly experienced it herself in the past.

"Maybe, but there are compensations, " Ros tells you, trying to make you see the bright side of it. "While our master's queens are in their ivory towers, far away from here, it is us who take care of their men's bod ies . It's us who share their be ds and sleep in their arms. It's us who give them affection and comfort when the pressure on them is hard and they need it the most. It's our role to make supportable one year and a half of hard work far from home. "

_ “Is this really what I want?” _ , you ask yourself,  _ “spending nights in his arms, kissing him, taking care of him, comforting him, proving him how beautiful he is, being with him one year and a half and then lea _ _ ving _ _ like nothing ever happened?” _

"I'll think about it," you sigh, at a loss of words.  

Suddenly, the ringtone of a phone receiving a text breaks the silence. Ros grabs it  from her purse and reads the message, smiling fondly. "I have to go. Apparently my master cannot sleep without me." She wishes you both a good night and leaves your flat.

"What was his name ?" you ask Jess once Ros is gone.

"Who ?"

"The one of your former bosses who broke your heart. "

"Rule number four : never talk about previous jobs," she reminds you.

"So it's true then, you fell in love!"

"Yes,” she sighs. “That's why you have to follow the rules; I don't want you to make the same mistake I did."

She stands up and collects her things, "I will inform Mr. Turner that you didn’t have the _talk_ before and that you know what is expected of you now. You have to decide if you stay or if you break your contract and leave. I think I will let you think about it."

She hugs you, wishes you a goodnight and she promises to text you i n the morning.

Once alone, you try to go to bed, but you are definitely too agitated to even think about sleeping. You pace in your living room like a caged feline, with your phone in your hand.  _ Do I stay or do I go? _ After fifteen minutes you realize that leaving ha s never really been an option: you don't want to quit a job you like, in an amazing place, with amazing people... and a boss you adore. You don't want to leave but will you be able to live with the consequences. Are you ready to become your master's… well… his bedmate, his assistant-with-benefits? A big part of your brain just wants to scream "yes", because you know how much you want him. Every time he is around you can’t stop thinking about how it m ight  feel to have his arms around you. The other part of you is just frightened.  You sense that if you let that happen: if you surrender to your desire for him, nothing will ever be the same. You’re at a crossroad and you are unable to decide if you are going to call him tonight or if you will wait  until  tomorrow to see him on the set and talk, trying to sort this out somehow. Because you really want to sort this out. You can't stand the fact he can be mad at you or that he could be sad because of you.

You finally decide to do something bold. You take your keys, your phone and your purse, leave your flat, get in your rented car and you drive t o M r O’Gorman’s house in Seatoun’s estate while repeating in your head:  _ "Why am I doing that?? For God’s sake, why I am doing that?" _

You park the car in front of his house. Light filters through the windows’ blinds. It means he's not asleep yet. You hesitate a moment in the dark, still seated in your car. " _ What the hell will I say when he _ _ is  _ _ in front of me ? _ " you wonder, but you get out  of your car and walk to his front door as  if there was an invisible force pushing you in the back. Your hand is shaking when you knock on the door.

You hear shuffling and footsteps  on the other side of the door and your heart is beating so fast it threatens to pop out of your rib cage. But it's not your master that opens the door, it's M r . Turner. Your eyes wide, you stay there on the doorstep, unsure what to say.

"Oh hello darlin’,” he chimes, totally at ease. “I thought it was my own PA. I just texted her to tell her I was here." He turns around before you can say anything and shouts in the direction of the kitchen "Dean! It's for you,  i t's your assistant. I’m pretty sure she's  h ere to see you, man!" He winks at you, but you can't offer him more than a weak, nervous smile.

When M r. O'Gorman appears at the top of the stairs, he is bare-chested.

He says your name, like a soft, surprised gasp.

He is wearing some plaid flannel sleeping pants and seems rather embarrassed about it. Obviously he was about to go to bed when M. Turner popped by to keep him company.

It's the first time you see your boss chest naked…for real, other than on a screen. He has beautiful, strong shoulders. He’s not exactly muscular, but he has a compact, toned body. His skin is tanned and looks very smooth. Curly ginger body hair is crawling down from his pectorals to the waistband of his sleeping pants and your fingers suddenly itch to touch it.

He is looking at you with a careful, guarded expression.

"Hi, I know it's getting late" you begin, "but I wanted to talk about-" You  cast a side glance at the Irishman who watches the scene with a knowing smirk. "I had some…unexpected visit at my flat tonight and it helped me understand a lot of things, I think there's been a misunderstanding. I just want to talk," you repeat.

"Yeah.... sure, come in." your master answers, but you can see he is just as unsure and confused as you. "Just a minute.  I’ll put on a t-shirt and I'm all yours."

"I bet you are !" Mr Turner laughs.

"Shut up, Aid!" your master shouts before heading to his bedroom. You must admit you are a bit disappointed he didn't stay bare-chested.

When the Kiwi comes back with a blue v-neck shirt on, M r . Turner takes his jacket from the closet and his car keys from his jeans’ pocket. "I leave you guys at it. See you on the set tomorrow, Deano?"

"Ta, good night, mate," Mr O’Gorman replies as he comes down the stairs.

"Good night." The Irishman winks at you once again before he leaves.

When the door is closed again, there is an uneasy silence between you two and you avoid your boss’ gaze, staring at the floor instead.

He gently takes you r jacket and your purse from your hands and you follow him upstairs. He puts your belonging on the table and you sit at the kitchen counter. His rented house is spacious but quite impersonal with its blank, white walls. There  are  still a pile of full boxes in the middle of the living room. He had not finished unpacking yet. 

"You want something to drink? I can make cocktails. What about a good Mojito?" he asks you with a cheer that sound s a little fake. He is nervous, uneasy, and it shows.

"Yeah, why not ? As long as you don't try to get me drunk!" you joke, trying to lighten the mood.

He laughs: a low pitched, throaty laugh. "Of course not, I'll be a very good boy tonight."

You suddenly realize how much you like the way he laughs and the way it enhances his lovely dimples.

During the minutes that follo w , you two manage to forget the previous discomfort and talk about random things together, mostly about the movie and the work on the set while he presses limes and chops mint leaves.

He gives you your drink and sit s in front of you. You drink together in silent companionship for a moment and it's finally him who breaks the silence. "I'm sorry about the way I talked to you this afternoon." He seems to be honest. "It wa s c rude and not very gentlemanly. I don't want you to think I am a sexual harasser. I'm ashamed I frightened you."

"Don't be… you didn't hurt me or any thing. And when you saw that I wasn't interested, you didn't push it further." You take a deep breath. "And it's not entirely true that I'm not interested. It's just that I learned the truth tonight about the job and it's a lot to cope with."

"So it has nothing to do with Rob… or with me ?" he asks, hopeful.

"No, no, of course not! And you were wrong when you said that you misinterpreted my signals." You see his smile widen and you blush. "Because you are my boss, I had a conscience issue with t his obviously mutual attraction," you explain, making a gesture to designate the space between you two "But, well, now it's different since it seems to be a part of my job to be attracted to you."

Once your confession is  made, you stare at the faux-marble pattern of the kitchen counter, not able to look back at him. You can feel his stare burning on your face. Out of the corner of your ey e , you see him stand up and walk around the counter. Suddenly, there  are two fingers under your chin that lift your head up and you meet his eyes.

"So, are you going to leave?" he ask.

“No. I'm not leaving. I just need time to adapt to my new …tasks.”

He moves closer to you. “I didn't want you to leave. I'm glad you chose to stay. You are a good assistant.” He caresses your cheek with his fingers and you let him because his warm hand feels good against your skin. “And speaking of your new tasks, I'll make sure it'll not be like actual tasks to you, just shared pleasures.” You feel a hot shiver going down your spine.

"Okay boss,” you whisper with a teasing smile. “When do we start ?"

He rubs your cheek with his thumb, shakes his head in disapproval and tuts you.  "Don't play with me, girl. I will take my time to tame you: one step at a time." He pulls you in a hug and because you are seated and he stands up, your face nestles naturally on his right pectoral. His used t-shirt is soft and his body heat radiates through the fabric. You close your eyes a moment and let his heartbeat soot he you and chase the last remains of nervousness out of your mind. You melt against his body and at the same time, you realize you're really tired. He kisses your hair. Perhaps the gesture should have be en too intimate, giving the circumstances, but somehow it feels right.

"What was that for ? " you still ask him, leaning just a little further into the hug.

"That was step one"

"And now?"

"Now we get to step two: it's getting really late now and you've been drinking so I cannot let you drive home like that. I’m afraid I have to confiscate your keys." He grabs them on the counter where you left them next to your empty glass and puts them in his pocket before you can protest. “You'll stay here and we will sleep together,” he decides. “When I say ‘sleep’, I really mean ‘sleep’. I've no intention to touch you tonight. It will just help you getting used to my presence by your side."

"As you wish, M r. O'Gorman," you murmur. His warmth and the spicy scent of his body makes you feel comfortable and sleepy. You are a bit disappointed by the ‘no touching’ rule, but after all, you have to  remember  who the boss is.


	2. A Dog's Life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'll keep you warm, don't worry," he says softly and he said that with such affection in his voice it makes your heart melt a little but also with a hint of mischievousness that sends delicious shivers in your spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is only the fruit of my depraved imagination and has nothing to do with the real actors and their real life. It is entirely fictional. 
> 
> This fic has no beta and I'm still trying to learn English, so sorry for the mistakes I missed. 
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy and let me some comments if you want other chapters.

"You know you don't have to sleep with me if you don't want to, I can take the couch."

Mr O’Gorman shifts his weight from a foot to another. He seems to regret his previous outpouring of self-confidence. His frown digs two little creases between his eyebrows.

"That's fine, you can sleep here with me," you assure him. "I better get used to it anyway."

He nods but the way he bites the inside of his lower lip tells you he is disappointed.

It’s your turn to be uneasy. Maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words " I want to," you hasten to correct. "I like to sleep with someone. I'm sensitive to cold." It may or may not be true but it doesn't matter because a soft smile appears on his lips.

"I'll keep you warm, don't worry," he reassures you. It’s hard to tell if he’s aware of the effect this has on you, but he said that with such affection in his voice it makes your heart melt but also with a hint of mischievousness that sends delicious shivers in your spine. This is going to be an interesting night. He promised not to touch you tonight, but a lot of promises can die when the lights turn off. Or perhaps it’s nothing but wishful thinking on your part.

He runs a hand in his messy hair and scans the room as if he is searching for something. "You don't have any pajamas," he points out.

Your eyes widen, does he really imply that you should...

He sees your expression and laughs. "NO no ! That's not what I wanted to say. I was just wondering what I can lend you. A t-shirt and one of my plaid boxers will do, I think."

"Hum yeah, whatever, thanks"

He disappears in his room and you are left alone with your thoughts for a moment. You can’t help notice all the feelings that should bugging you right now and are still missing: apprehension, shame, restlessness. You’re about to share your boss’ bed. That idea that would have scandalize you a few hours ago somehow feels normal, natural. You only know Mr O’Gorman for only a few weeks now, but your instinct tells you that you can trust him; that he is not going to do anything that would not be consensual. After all, he hired you in the hope that you’d be his… playmate. Maybe this is some kind of test. And still, even that thought fails to make you nervous.

Your master comes back with a grey t-shirt and boxers and he shows you the way to the bathroom where you can change your clothes.

Once you are alone again, you unfold the t-shirt and after a second of hesitation you bury your face in the fabric and inhale. Of course it's clean but you can still smell the faint remains of his delicious manly scent. You smile and you blush at the same time, imagining how he would react if he caught you sniffing his clothes. When you step in his room, he is already seated in the bed, with his legs under the covers. You lean against the door frame and ask "How do i look ?" gesturing to your improvised pajamas.

His eyes sparkles. He takes a deep breath. "Well, you are lovely,” he admits, “I'll try not to think too much about it. You are make it very difficult for me, you know. I said I'd be a good boy so I'll stick to the plan."

For a the span of a dozen heartbeats, you just stare at each other. He shakes his head like if he wants to drive out certain thoughts from his mind and he lifts the covers to invite you to join him in the bed. "Come on, it's time to sleep now, we must be on the set at 6 AM tomorrow morning," he reminds you.

"Yes sir…" you answer, slipping underneath the blankets next to your master.

He turns off the light, takes your hand and puts a gentle kiss on it. "Good night," he whispers and intertwines his fingers with yours.

You're on your back, staring into the void, just feeling his hand in yours and listening to his breathing slowing and changing as he falls asleep next to you.

You would like to snuggle closer, but you don't because it is a bit early for this kind of proximity. His warmth and the sound of his slow breathing lull you to sleep faster than you expected.

Nonetheless, you had a particularly stressful and emotional day and, as a result, you end up having a bad dream: the kind of sweaty, choking nightmare that makes your grit your teeth in your sleep and pant. There are putrid monsters, orcs, with axes and they are carrying large bags. They open and empty them before you. The heads severed of your friends, your family, everyone you love, roll out of the bags and to your feet.    You wake up with a gasp, shaking, and you probably also screamed in your sleep because the first thing you see through your tears is worried blue eyes staring at you.

"Are you okay ?" your master asks.

"No..n.. no, I mean, yes, just a nightmare," you stutter.

" A particularly horrible one apparently," he notes. He gently cups your face in his hand and helps you dry the tears from your cheek with his thumb in a sweet gesture."Do you want to talk about it ?"

"No, not really, what time is it ?"

He rolls onto his back and peeks at the alarm clock. "It’s two in the morning. Do you want to try to sleep again? Or I can make us tea and we can just relax in the living room for the rest of the night."

You dry the remaining tears with the back of your hand.

"I don't want to deprive you from sleep,” you tell him, once your voice is a little steadier. “According to your schedule, you have several important scenes to shoot tomorrow."

He smiles. "What would I do without my precious PA ? But are you going to be able to sleep ?"

"I don't know," you answer honestly.

He opens his arms, "How about you sleep just here?."

You say nothing and just snuggle up into his arms, because, well, that would be a crime to refuse such an offer. It's part of your job after all.

You hear him sigh in contentment as you position your body against him to be comfortable. You rest your head against his shoulder. His hand feels heavy and warm, curled in the curve of your waist. His heartbeat is even more soothing and pleasant than his breathing.

" Comfortable enough?" he asks.

"I am. Are you, sir ?"

"Very. Let's sleep now. Sweets dreams this time, okay ?" He turns off the light.

"I'll try," you reply in a yawn, but already, the sensation of having a man so close makes you relax and sleepy.

He kisses you on the forehead and you fall asleep very quickly, feeling his fingers caress your waist lightly through the grey t-shirt.

***

 

You are woken up again two hours later by a warm and wet tongue licking all over your face. You snap your eyes open and all you can see is a big furry nose and huge black eyes. You fail to muffle a scream of surprise that wakes your bedmate as well.

"BATMAN !!!! " your boss groans, rubbing his eyes and trying to push the dog out of the bed. "What are you doing here, buddy?" he asks the dog.

The irish wolfhound just drops on his master's lap, panting and wagging his tail.

"My friend Emmett took care of him during my first few weeks of shooting, until I finished unpacking and placing the furniture, " he explains. "he brought Batman back from Auckland yesterday. I had put him in the basement last night, when Aidan was there, but he obviously found a way to escape, clever dog." Then, he scratches Batman’s belly. "You are a clever dog, aren't you ? You kissed the lady before I could do it, huh ? You hairy Casanova! " Batman is just happy to get some attention and he wags his tail with more vigor. You are seriously wondering who is the most adorable between the two blond creatures. You run your hand in Batman's soft fur and the dog licks your hand. M. O'Gorman looks at you with a pensive smile. "My dog has good tastes for women, he already loves you."

You blush a bit and turn away, pretending to look at the alarm clock. It's 4 AM.

He pushes the dog out of the bed and he tucks you in. "You can go back to sleep. I’ll take Batman out for a quick walk. I'll wake you up when it's time to go to work."

"Hmm, ok thanks," you mutter and curl into a ball under the sheets. He tiptoes out of the room, batman hot on his heels and a few minutes later, you’re back asleep.

When you open your eyes , the sun rays filter between the red curtains and the bedroom basks in a soft, warm light. When you try to move, you receive a joyful lick to the elbow. Batman is sprawled on the bed beside you. You take a look at the clock and your eyes shoot wide open.  You immediately start to panic when you realize it's 8h45 AM.

You are about to rush outside the bedroom when you notice several sticky notes on the night stand. On the first note, you can read : " _DON'T PANIC!!_ " , in capital letters. Your boss knows you very well. You unstick the second note and read it.

 _I let you sleep, you were so cute like that, I just couldn't wake you. Forgive me_.

The third says : _I'll tell Peter that you're sick if he asks, I'm sure I can do without you today, although you are irreplaceable._

The fourth one: _You can stay here today if you want, you can use the shower, the telly, I have books, you can use my laptop, I don't have any hidden porn files ;) If you are hungry, treat yourself in the fridge. If you want to take Batman out for a walk, his leash is on the kitchen counter._

And the last one, a pink one, says : _In fact I would be happy if you were there when I'll come home. I'll text you. Enjoy your day off. Dean_

With the eventful night you had, a day off is much appreciated. Everyone should have a boss like yours, you think while heading to the kitchen, Batman following behind. You don't bother changing your clothes. You are very comfortable in his soft t-shirt. You eat a bowl of cereals, watching the news on TV and petting Batman distractedly, until hear your ringtone. You notice that you already have five new texts but you have no time to read it if you want to take the call.

You have to put your phone away from your ear with a wince because someone is shouting through it. "I THOUGHT YOU WERE GONE !!!" You immediately recognize the voice.

"Ah… hello Jess. Can you please stop screaming, I'm not deaf you know." She lowers her voice, but begins to speak so fast you have a hard time catching the meaning of her verbal diarrhea. "You-didn't-texted-me-back-and-M.O'Gorman-arrived-alone-on-the-set-this-morning-and-I-was-sure-you-were-gone-and-you-didn't-say-goodbye-but-he-was-grinning-like-an-idiot-and-wasn't-sure-anymore-and…"

"Ok Jess, please calm down ! I'm still here. "

"Okay… sorry, girl. I was just afraid you'd let us down."

"I haven't."

"I know, I assumed you were gone, but at the same time I doubted it because M. O'Gorman seemed to be in a very good mood today. I asked him if he knew where you were today and he confessed that the last time he had seen you, you were asleep in his bed."

You chuckle, but Jessica doesn't give you the time to answer. "Oh my god ! It's true then ! Tell me it's true!" She lowers her voice " You slept with him ! That so hot because…. he's so hot."

"I know he's hot…and yes I slept with him, but not much happened really, we just cuddled a bit."

"Tomorrow night, you come around for a drink and you tell me EVERYTHING !" she decides.

"Haha ! Do I have something to say in the matter ? "

"Not really ! Ok, I have to go, M. Turner is called on the set. See you later, behave yourself!"

"I will…" you sigh. "Have a nice day !"

You turn off your phone and look down at the dog who sits quietly on the floor nearby. "Fancy a walk Batman?" you ask him, ruffling the fur on his head. He wags his tail in agreement and then you realize you cannot go outside dressed like that. Disliking to have to put on the dress you wore the day before, get to your car, making sure none of the neighbors see you, and you grab a clean pair of jeans you usually leave there in case of emergency. You go back to the house, jump in the shower and when you are clean (you managed to find soap and shampoo that don't smell manly) you put on your jeans. Okay… but don't have any clean top ... _"I think he won’t mind if I borrow him another t-shirt, would he?"_ you ponder.

You are feel a silly kind of excitement when you open the closet of the bedroom, like you are doing something forbidden, even if you know him enough to know he would not mind. He said you could help yourself in the fridge after all. But clothes are a little more intimate than a couple milk bottles and a loaf of bread.  

You search through his clothes and you can't help but imagine him wearing every piece of clothing you touch. You’re imagining yourself slipping a hand under this black t-shirt or slowly unbuttoning that white shirt, pressing heated kisses on every inch of skin you reveal in the process.

Nobody is in your head besides you; you can allow yourself a moment of private fantasy. You are glad that this man will be yours for the next year and a half.

You finally pick a plaid flannel shirt and a glance in the mirror tells you that you look human enough to go out.

You walk around the neighborhood with Batman who seems really happy and sniffs literally everything that crosses your path. You stop at the dog park and unclip the leash from his collar. You throw the tennis ball you found on the kitchen counter, next to the dog food. Batman fetches the ball and returns it to your lap every time with the same enthusiasm. You suddenly feel your phone vibrating in the back pocket of your jeans. You grab the irish wolfhound by the collar, making sure he doesn't escape while you are busy reading your text message. You smile when you see your master’s initials appear on the screen. He must be in lunch break by now.

_-Well rested, sleeping beauty? –D.O'-_

_-"Yeah fine, thanks for the day off",_ you text him back.

_\- I'm glad you appreciate it. R u back at your apartment?-D.O'-_

_-No, playing ball with Batman in the park._ –[you]-

_-Rly ? This dog is gonna fall in love! –D.O'-_

_-How's the shooting going?_ you ask.

_-Fine but I must admit I realized that there's A LOT of little things I haven't to think about when you are there to help me. –D.O'-_

_-aww I'm touched! but you rly should've woken me up this morning._ –[you]-

 _-I told you, I couldn't ;)_ –D.O'-

Batman is now lying against your legs, his big head resting on your knee. You scratch him around the neck gently. "Apparently your daddy cannot live without me" you tell the dog with a little smirk. You begin to understand what Ros meant when she was speaking about the satisfying feeling of being essential to your master, to be his lifeline in this crazy show business world. You phone's screen flashes again.

_-If I'm still alive at 6PM, and if you don't have any other plans for the evening, we can celebrate my dubious success at being on my own on set all day long? I can buy some take-out food on the way home and we can watch a movie. How does it sounds to you ?"-D.O'-_

You realize, when you feel your heartbeat accelerate at the simple idea of sharing a dinner with him, that you really look forward to be with him again. Even if it's crazy because you saw him only eight hours ago, you already miss him.

_-Sounds great!-[you]-_

_-Awesome ! See you later then, take care of yourself and my bb pup. –D.O'-_

You put put phone back in your pocket and you clip the leash to Batman's collar. "Come on, oversized baby puppy, we are going home."

You spend the rest of the afternoon reading photography magazines, lying on the living room carpet with batman's belly as a pillow and this is where your boss finds you when he gets home at the end of the day. The dog doesn't even bother moving from where he is when M. O'Gorman walks into the room and he just taps on the floor with his tail, taking his job as a pillow very seriously.

"I can see he really fell under your spell. He doesn't need me anymore." Your master comments. You stand up and join him in the kitchen.

He leaves the bags of chinese takeout food on the counter and grabs some plates and forks in the cupboard. "How was your day ?" he asks you.

"Good, thanks for the house and all."

"You're welcome." He gives you an appraising. "And you're also welcome for the shirt."

You look down at your clothes. "Oh yeah sorry. I had nothing to wear."

"Don't be sorry…"

He approaches you carefully and when he sees that you let him enter your personal space, he put his hands on your hips. You let him. It feels good. You see that he hesitates, afraid that you will push him away. Slowly, he runs his hands up your back to your shoulder blade and gently pulls you against him. You are not sure what you're supposed to do so you bury your face in his neck and just relax in the warm hug.

"Would you freak out if I said that you are very sexy in my shirt ?" he asks and you feel the vibration of his low, manly voice through throat, where you have the tip of your nose.

"No…I wouldn’t mind," you whisper against his skin.

"You are very sexy in my shirt," he repeats and you can hear the grin in his voice.

"Thanks." It's very, very, very difficult to keep your from tasting his neck and throat with an open-mouthed kiss.

He pushes the collar of the plaid shirt aside just a little bit, to reveal your neck and your shoulder and press a kiss next to your bra strap. The sensation of his wet lips make you shiver. It is somehow even more intimate than a kiss on the lips. He takes a furtive look at your face to gauge your reaction and he seems satisfied to see that you are not going to slap him.

"Hungry ?" he asks in a husky tone.

"Starving"

You both chuckle, aware of the ambiguity of these words.

You eat in the living room and drink the excellent wine he bought to accompany your meal. You laugh a lot together when he narrates you how he tried to eat his lunch but that he ate Fili's hair instead because he forgot the hair clips, the ones you always keep in your pocket to tie his wig every time he has to eat. He tells you how he fails an entire scene because he had to deliver a line but he still had fake hair stuck between his teeth.

Despite being a famous actor, M. O'Gorman is still a laid-back man who can laugh about himself and you really appreciate him because of that. You genuinely enjoy the time you’re spending with him tonight. You feel comfortable and relaxed in his presence. He is a real gentleman with you: refilling your glass, standing up and going to the kitchen every time you need something. You find it all very cute, but at the same time, you remember that he's your boss and you are his PA. He just wants you to do some "extra time" in his bed without traumatizing you for life. You know that he hopes you will be in his bed, doing your duty to distract him and satisfy his needs, as soon as possible. You still choose not to think about it this way and just enjoy spending the evening with a gorgeous man.

Two hours later, you are watching Star Wars - The Empire Strikes Back. M. O'Gorman has his arms around your shoulders and brushes your arm softly with his fingertips. At some point, you rest your head against his shoulder and one thing leading to another, you are now sitting in the middle of the couch and your master is lying on his side, his head resting on your lap, your left hand in his hair, massaging his scalp. Your right hand is busy petting Batman who's asleep on the other side of the couch. Your master is literally purring under your hand.

"You guys cannot really complain about your life right now," you comment.

"We just can't, huh Batman?! You found my weak spot I'm afraid, I could sell a couple of vital organs to have someone playing in my hair and massaging my scalp every day."

"I'll remember it ! You will owe me a couple organs then.”

You start yawning just after that Luke Skywalker finally discovers who his real father is.

" It's getting late, I must go," you remind him, running a hand a last time in his soft disheveled mane.

Mr. O'Gorman sits up on the couch.

"Really ? How sad... " he pouts.

"Yes, at some point I'll need my own clothes" you point out.

He seems a bit disappointed but he smiles at you nonetheless. "That was a great evening. I enjoyed it very much." he says, helping you to collect your things.

You thank him for everything and he shows you out. You stop on his doorstep. He seems to hesitate but he finally says: "I would have loved it if you stayed to sleep with me. Do you think we will do it again someday?"

"I guess we will, every time you feel the need. That's what I'm for, apparently".

He looks away and shakes his head, lost in thoughts.

He puts a chaste kiss on your cheek, pressing his lips there just a little bit longer than necessary, and wishes you a good night.

You are halfway to your car when he hails you.

"Are you doing something tomorrow afternoon ?"

"Nope, why?" you ask.

"Would you like to come on a roadtrip with me? I have to go to find a location for my next photo shoot. That’s not really in your task definition and I don't think you can't be paid for that, but I thought it could be fun."

"Yeah, why not ? See you tomorrow then!"

You drive home with a goofy smile on your lips.

Before going up to your flat, you open your mailbox and collect your mail. A strange envelope catches your attention. You open it and find an invitation: a simple rectangular white card with golden lettering that says:

_Dean O'Gorman and P.A._

_Friday 23th, 9PM, studio 2_

_Pairing color: orange_

Puzzled, you look on the back of the card but there is nothing else, no explanation.


	3. The So-called Lovebirds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You accompany your boss in his quest to find a location for his photo shoot. Batman is cute, M. O'Gorman shows his acting skills and back in Wellington, you get some troubling news.

You're listening to music, pacing on the sidewalk with your headphones on, waiting for your master who is supposed to pick you up in the next minutes. When you see his car slowing down in front of you, you smile and hurry to open the passenger door.

"Hi Miss!" he greets you with a huge smile. Your master is wearing a grey t-shirt under a kaki jacket, precisely the shirt you were wearing yesterday. His eyes seem more green than blue in the daylight. He's gorgeous, as usual.

 

"Good afternoon to both of you!" you answer, climbing in the car. Batman, who's seated on the back seat, takes the opportunity to lick your neck and it makes you giggle softly. Your master pushes him away gently and apologize, "I'm sorry, apparently this dog is determined to cover you with his saliva every time he sees you."

"That's okay, I don't mind," you reassure your boss as he drives down the street. "So? Where are we going?"

"Actually, we are going somewhere near Takapuwahia, I need a wide field for my next Vietnam war photo shoot and a friend told me there he knew a perfect place there. We have to go there to see if it's what I'm looking for, and if I like it, we'll have to make a little investigation to find out who is the owner of the place and ask him for his permission to shoot there."

"Humm an investigation, that sounds mysterious, you'll be Sherlock, I'll be your Watson," you joke.

He laughs "Yiss! Something like that! But I'm afraid it will not be very exciting."

"As long as I'm in good company, that's okay," you answer, smiling.

"I'm touched!" He smiles back, taking a couple of second to tear his eyes from to road to look at you.

"I'm talking about Batman of course," you tease him and your master pulls a pouting face. "I know I can't top Batman's awesomeness but I'll try anyway," he replies.  
As soon as you are on the highway, your master turns his music on and you enjoy the trip to the sound of CCR. You cannot help smiling because you're just happy to be there and you feel you're at the right place and you couldn't be happier elsewhere. You feel like you are in an seventies road trip movie. You're going on an adventure with a cute dog and a drop-dead gorgeous male specimen, life could be worse, really!

 

You cannot help but stare at your master as he drives, concentrated on the road, his fingers drumming the song rhythm on the steering wheel, a contented smile floating on his kissable lips.

At some point he realizes that you're staring at him because he looks back at you. "What?", he asks you, still smiling.

"Nothing…" you mumble. His smile widens when he sees that you turn away, blushing.

He doesn't comment your stalky behavior or make fun of you, thanks god. Instead, he rests his hand on your thigh, his eyes back on the road.

You look at the hand on your thigh, and then back at his face. You don't know what to say for a couple of seconds so he removes his hands and gives you an apologetic look. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable…It's just, I couldn't resist, you're really cute when you look at me like that," he says, probably sensing that you need an explanation, "if I wasn't driving I would like to cuddle you in my arms," he admits.

"So I'm 'cute' huh?" you tease him gently.

"I would have said beautiful, even desirable, but I didn't want to freak you out so I choose 'cute', which is also true by the way," he comments.

You take his hand and brush your lips gently on his knuckles, you need to make things clear between you two. You don't want him to think that his attentions are not appreciated. They are, in fact, very much appreciated; it's just that you can't believe that an handsome and talented actor like him could want you. It's almost too good to be true. "Now that I know what's going on, I don't think I'll freak out anymore," you explain. " I'll tell you if I'm uncomfortable with something," you try to reassure him.

"ok" he whispers.

You put another kiss on the back of his hand and caress the soft hair on his manly forearm with your fingertips, you feel him shiver slightly.

"If we have a car crash because I'm distracted, I'll know who to blame," he jokes, grinning, his eyes not leaving the road.

"Sorry…" you apologize releasing his hand but he puts it back on your tight and rubs it gently with his thumb through the fabric of your jeans. "I'm glad you’re here," your master says softly.

 

………………………………..

 

You arrive at Takapuwahia about an hour later. The map his friend drew for your master is a bit confusing but you finally manage to find the field in the countryside, a couple kilometers out of the town. Your boss parks the car in a muddy path near the said field. You put Batman his leash and get him out of the car while M. O'Gorman sets his camera to make some tests.

 

This is a huge green field with some little hills and a solitary tree in the middle. As your boss finishes setting his camera, you're petting Batman who's just happy to be outside and wants to explore, but you cannot let him run free. You cannot tear your gaze away from your master, while he paces back and forth in the field, snapping a shot now and then. He comments the way the light illuminate the grass and share with you his ideas of angles and settings for the photo shoot. His eyes sparkle with excitement and passion.  
M. O'Gorman shows you one of his photos on his camera screen, "what do you think about that one?"

"It's beautiful, as usual, but maybe I'm not the best to help you."

"You opinion matters to me, that's why I asked you to come with me."

"I think it's gorgeous."

"What do you think about the location? I think it's exactly what I need!"

" If it's exactly what you need, then we should try to contact the owner right now. If you lend me your smartphone, I can make a research to find the town hall's phone number, maybe they can tell me who's the landlord. "

"Excellent idea! You're precious, you know you're precious, right?" he puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you against him, he buries his face in your hair and takes a deep breath. You sigh contently and melt into the embrace.

He smells good. You realize he didn't wash the grey shirt after you wear it because it smells like him, but it also smells like you too and this mix of scent make your head spinning in a delicious way. You cannot resist and put a hand under his jacket, running your fingers on his firm stomach through the fabric. He hums softly in your hair, appreciating the caress.

 

He circles your waist, pulls you even closer and holds you tight, running one of his hand on the small of your back.  
It's so good and intimate that you swear that if he laid you in the grass you would let him do whatever he wants with you, as long as he lets you touch him everywhere. You imagine yourself tossing his shirt over his head and throw it away in the grass and then digging your fingertips in the skin of his shoulder blades and nipping at the light stubble on his throat. The mere thought of kissing his hot flesh makes you shudder and a pool of heat begins to grow in your belly. It's so intoxicating; you want more of his hands on you. You want all the caresses he could give you.

You don't know for how long you just stay like that, in each other's arms. It feels like an eternity but not long enough at the same time. Batman tugs on his leash impatiently like if he's saying "get a room for your mating, you annoying humans".

M. O'Gorman breaks the hug first, "hum, I would like to stay like that all day, but we have a job to do" he reminds you softly, looking in your eyes and pushing a strand of hair behind your right ear. His clear blue eyes stare at you with those mischievous sparks in them that takes your breath away. You feel like you are realizing for the first time how gorgeous he is. Your faces are so close, it would be so easy to just close the space between your lips and kiss. Because, oh GOD! You want it so bad. He is not a perfect man, he's not a mister-muscle like in the magazines and you know that if you showed a photo of your master to your female friends, probably some of them wouldn't find him really attractive, but it doesn't matter to you. He got flaws, yes, but he's so beautifully human and so perfectly manly. You just cannot realize yet how lucky you are. You just know that you need a male like that in your bed. To be honest, you don't know how for long you'll be able to wait to have him.

You take the smartphone from his outstretched hand and you try to focus on your task again and not to think about how easily your boss turns you on.

 

Unfortunately, you are too deep in the countryside so you don't have any satellite connection. You two decide to go back to the town so you can go directly to the town hall.

You go in the building while your master waits outside on the sidewalk with Batman. You come out fifteen minutes later with a paper with some directions scribbled on it  
"I asked them if they knew who owned the fields and they gave me phone number of a guy, Mister Hall," you inform him.

"Great! We must call him then!" your boss says enthusiastically.

"I already called him," you explain, "he told me that his grandmother is the owner of the lands."

"Do we have the phone number of this lady?"

"Well… Mister Hall told me that his grandmother is very old fashion, she actually doesn't have a phone, but he gave me her address. He said that we should go at her place and ask her in person. Here is her address," you say, giving him the piece of paper.

"Great job! I don't know what I'd do without you." He smiles and it's one of those smiles that make your knees go weak and you could swear that he is fully aware of the effect he has on you.

Ten minutes later you are in front of Mrs Hall's house. M. O'Gorman parks the car and the weather is not too hot today so he opens the windows slightly and he decides to let Batman in the car. "You'll be a good boy while mommy and daddy are gone, huh buddy ?!" he tells his dog before locking the doors.

You raise an eyebrow, "we are mommy and daddy now?"

"Shh, don't disappoint him! He already considers you as such!" your boss scolds you playfully.

You chuckle, "I rather think it's you, projecting your own desires on him," you reply.

M. O'Gorman doesn't answer but winks at you.

You reach the house door and your boss is about to knock on the door but a sudden thought seems to hold him back. He turns his head to look at you for a moment. "You said she was old fashion, right?" he asks you, keeping his voice low.

"That's what her grandson told me!"

"I have an idea," he tells you with that same tell-tale smile that he has every time he and M. Turner are planning some shenanigans on the set. "Do you trust me?"

"I do," you reply, with a little hesitation.

He takes your hand and intertwines your fingers and he knocks at the door before you can react. He seems to understand that you're confused so he rubs the inside of your wrist with his thumb in a soothing gesture.

We are totally breaking rule number one right now, "no public display of physical closeness"; you cannot help but think as your master continues to caress your palm with the tip of his thumb. The simple touch sends pleasing waves of warmth in your body. You relax a little bit but you still wonder what your master is up to.

After couple of minutes, an old lady in a pink bathrobe opens the door.  
"Good afternoon Mrs Hall," your master greets her ", I'm sorry to disturb you, my name is Dean O'Gorman and this is my fiancée Y/N."  
Your heart jumps involuntary in your chest as you begin to understand his plan. You force a smile even if you are in shock.

M. O'Gorman tells her that he is a photographer that is searching for a location for a photo shoot and that you got her address by her grandson. She politely lets you in and guides you to the living room and you sit on the couch. Your boss never lets go of your hand and never ceases his comforting caresses. You try to look as casual as possible and not to show the heat you feel in all your being with such a treatment.

"You make such a lovely couple, not like those young people who live in sin, never marry and feel free to sleep with anyone," Mrs Hall compliments you as she brings you tea and biscuits.

You shoot a glance at your boss who is surely laughing in his head. He looks at you and you can see the victory in his grin. He knows he had succeeded to coax the poor lady by playing the enamoured lovebird in a serious relationship that wants his union to be sanctified by god himself.

"You will be a very pretty bride," she tells you. You look at your feet, even more embarrassed. That's obviously not the same thing for your boss who seems completely comfortable in that situation.

M. O'Gorman squeezes your hand, searching your gaze. "She is gorgeous, isn't she? She will be a perfect bride, the best a man could have," he answers fondly. Your heart makes a leap in your chest. It's only acting, he's acting, he's an actor, that's what he does the best, you remind yourself before you could drown in that ocean blue gaze.

"When are you supposed to get married?" Mrs Hall asks you, visibly curious.

"We talked about a summer wedding, isn't it darling?" your master says.

"Yes exactly, I like summer," you answer, deciding to play the game.

"How did you meet?" she asks him.

"I saw her and I wanted to take a photo of her because I thought she was beautiful," he murmurs, looking at you like you were a masterpiece.  
"Yeah, he is a very talented actor", you think.

 

"How romantic!" she comments, dreamingly, "I met my husband when I was doing charity volunteering in Australia and this is where I also began my spoons collection."

You exchange a puzzled look with your boss.

Mrs Hall spends the next hour showing you his collection of spoons from almost everywhere in the world, one spoon at a time. Your boss is actually a sweetheart and he asks her some questions about the different spoons, showing a genuine interest and you seriously wonder if he's still acting. You listen politely but when she starts explaining the difference between the shapes of the different spoons from France, you muffle a yawn and you think you would faint of boredom if your master wasn't rubbing soothingly the small of you back with his warm palm.

At some point, Mrs Hall left you alone in the living room in order to make more tea in the kitchen.

"I don't think I can endure one more spoon…" you complain in a whisper.

"Hold on!" your master encourages you, patting your knee, "That was just a warming up. After the spoons, it will be the entire collection of forks."  
"You're kidding right?" you whine desperately.

"and after the forks," he continues, "it will be… the knives!!!" he says the two last words dramatically, frowning in an almost perfect imitation of M. Turner's menacing resting face.

 

You burst in laughter so hard that you nearly fell out of the couch and he cannot help but laugh with you. When the old lady comes out of the kitchen, she finds you two clinging at each other and giggling uncontrollably like children.

"We will take another cup of your delicious tea Mrs Hall but after that, me and my lovely fiancée will have to go back to Welly," your master tells her politely when he is able to breath efficiently again.

She seems to be disappointed.

"We left our dog in the car and by now, he must surely wonder if we abandoned him," you explain.  
She smiles and nod quietly.

You drink your own cup of tea while your boss explains to Mrs Halls how he works when he takes pictures on a location and she finally agrees to give him the permission to bring actors and material and shoot on her propriety.

You wish her a good evening and get to your boss's car where Batman is waiting for you impatiently.

"Great work! We nailed it! I have a place for my next photo shoot!" M. O'Gorman congratulates you and you exchange a high five.

 

 

You leave the town, the sun is going down and when you stop later in a deserted rest area, it's almost the night. You walk Batman a bit and after that, you sit on a picnic table and share the food your master had brought for supper. When you have finish your improvised picnic and that you have fed Batman with a couple of dog treats, you and your boss end up cuddling on the back seat of the car like if it was the most natural thing in the world. He holds you in his arms and you feel safe and comfortable.  
You are talking about the day's events and you cannot help but share a thing that bothers you: "You lied to this poor lady without a single hint of guilt; you manipulate her emotions with our fake cuteness and your interest for her spoons!"

"What makes you think I was lying? I respect people who have a passion, even when it's for utensils!, " he replies, looking at you from above as your lift your chin up to meet his gaze.

You feel sheepish that you doubted him about that, but there is still some points that need clarification.

"er… right, but I remember you said we were engaged and I have no recollection of a real proposal."

"Maybe, but apart from that, I didn't lie that much," he replies casually.

"Stop it! What about that bullshit about the way we met and you who wanted to photograph me."

"I didn't want to tell her we met at work because she could have asked where we were working."

"But you lied anyway!"

"Nop. The first time I saw you on the set, I thought that you had a really interesting face and that I wanted to photograph it."

"Interesting…?"

"Yes, interesting." He smiles and leans down towards you, your lips are just an inch apart from his and you can feel his warm breath on your face. The time seems to stop before he talks again. "And you are beautiful right now and I would like to immortalize it. I'm sorry to be blunt, but I had a really fun day with you and the only thing I can think about right now is your lips and how madly I want to kiss you."

"Really?," you cannot help but ask, even if you know you are kind of breaking the mood. He doesn't seem to be offended though.

"You would rather kiss Fili, don't you?" he teases, "I saw the way you look at me when I'm wearing my costume. You have a moustache braids kink! Admit it!"

"Fili is indeed a very sexy dwarf," you admit, "when the movie will be in theaters, I bet the fangirls will be crazy about him."

"I don't think so. Aidan is the smouldering one; he's the hot dwarf…. Eh! Wait a minute?! Did you just said I was sexy?" he realizes, grinning like an idiot. (a ridiculously handsome idiot)

"I said Fili was sexy!" you correct him.

"But… in a way… we look the same, are we?" he tries, giving you his best puppy-eyes look.

"Stop fishing for compliments!" you laugh, pushing on his nose with your forefinger.

You nestle your head against his shoulder and you stay silent for a moment, just appreciating his presence. You run a hand on his flank and you surprise yourself when, in a bold move, you put your hand under his t-shirt and you touch the skin under. It's so soft and warm, just the way you imagined it.

"I said that Fili was sexy, but the actor who plays him is not bad either," you whisper huskily.

He rubs the tip of his long nose on your cheek in a very tender gesture, "not bad, huh?", he whispers. "Not bad at all" you repeat, caressing his stubble on his cheek.

He leans down a little and brushes his lips softly on yours. It's the mere ghost of a kiss but you close your eyes nonetheless. It's overwhelming and it sends electric shocks of desire in your spine and it's so sweet and loving at the same time. He pulls away and you open your eyes, his bright blue eyes are watching you with a slight concern. He cups your face in his strong manly hand and caresses your lips with the side of a thumb. He seems to try to figure out if his kisses are welcomed. The only thing you can think about right now is how badly you crave for another kiss. Your hand that is still under his shirt grabs the soft flesh of one shoulder blade; dragging him down in what you hope is a clear invitation to resume his kissing.

This time, he captures your mouth in a hot kiss without hesitation. Your lips move together sensually as he tilts his head on the side to take your mouth deeper. The kiss deepens quickly and you can feel his soft wet tongue licking patiently his way between your lips. You cannot hold back the gasp of pleasure that escapes your throat and he responds with an aroused groan. Your heart is drumming loudly in your ears and you can't help wondering if he can hear it too. You forget about everything that exists besides his lips that devour your mouth with passion and the pleasant roughness of his beard against your chin.

At some point, you need to breath and he breaks the kiss. You pant softly. His pupils are dilated with desire. He murmurs your name, running a hand along your thigh. "Jeezus. The things you do to me…" he adds before stealing another kiss.

Suddenly, you both jump when your phone vibrates in your purse and the sound of your ringtone fills the quiet evening atmosphere.

You throw him a questioning glance, asking silently for his permission.

"Take it, it may be important," he says.

You grab your purse and take your phone, it's Jessica.

"Hello?" you answer carefully and you straighten yourself on the car seat.

"Hello there! Where are you? We are supposed to have a drink at my place tonight, remember?"

Oh shit! You had completely forgotten about it.

"I… I… I'm… I mean… I'm….so…sorry!," you stutter. Partly because you don't know what to say and you are mad at yourself. But mostly, you are not able to formulate a coherent sentence because your master attacks your exposed neck with open-mouthed kisses and tiny nips.

"Stop please" you beg him, taking the phone away and keeping your voice low but he just laughs softly against your skin and resumes his delicious torture.

You clear your throat and try to ignore the heated pleasure that flood your veins and gives you the urgent need to purr and mewl like a helpless kitten.

"Oh my god!!! You are NOT ALONE!" Jess squeaks.

You blush and your boss chuckles louder. This time, there is no way she doesn't hear him through the phone.

"If you were shagging, why did you answer the damn phone? I didn't want to hear that!" she whines.

"We weren't shagging!" you protest, blushing even more and your master laughs even louder at your embarrassment, pressing his face in your shoulder, trying unsuccessfully to muffle his laughter against the fabric of your clothes.

"Okay! So if you aren't shagging, it means that you can be at my place in twenty minutes?"  
"How about one hour?"  
"Okay, one hour, but you better be there!"  
"See you later Jess."  
You turn your phone off and snuggle again on your master's lap. "I'm sorry about that" you whisper.

"What for?" he asks you, petting your hair, "friends are important, friends are for fun, me, I'm for …" he hesitates and wrinkles his nose in disgust, "being with me means work for you…"he sighs.

You snuggle closer and bury your face in his neck, you want to tell him that it's not really like a job for you to spend time with him, that you enjoy his touches, that you want and need him as much as he wants you, but Jess's voice echoes in your head. "Never get that close to a master." So you remain silent.

You feel him kissing your hair. "I guess we better go now."

He drives you back to Wellington in an almost complete silence but you smile at each other now and then. Despite the last words you exchanged, there is no tension between you. It's comfortable, you just don't need to talk and you just bask in the tender mood the kissing had created around you.

He drops you in front of Jess's flat and gives you a quick peck on the cheek. "Have fun! Text me if you need something, anything….. just give me some news okay?"  
You nod. "See you at work on Monday then?" you add.

"Of course! "

"Bye Batman!" you tell the dog. You are about to open the car's door and get out but your master puts a hand on your forearms.

"Wait!"

He places his other hand on the back of your neck and drags you in for a proper kiss, a long sweet kiss that leaves your lips trembling.

Fortunately, it's dark in the car and there are not many chances someone on the street saw you kissing.  
"I…sorry…I… just wanted…" he hesitates, like if he needed to justify his gesture.

"No need to apologize." You caress his cheek one more time, "goodnight sir."

 

........................

 

Jess opens the door almost immediately after you knocked. Apparently, she was waiting for you impatiently. Well, "patient" is definitely not her first quality but you're actually glad to see her despite that.

She hugs you. "You smell like a man," she teases you.

"Probably," you admit, in fact you are glad to have your master's delightful manly scent all over you. It just reminds you that you actually spent a pretty long time in his arms today.

She disappears in the kitchen to grab your drink and you sit on the couch. Your eyes scan absentmindedly the heteroclite objects on her coffee table when a white cardboard square attracts your attention.

You take it and read it.

Aidan Turner and PA  
Friday 23th, 9PM, studio 2  
Pairing color: red

You remember that you had found a similar invitation in your mail yesterday.

Jess gets back from the kitchen and hands you your drink. "oh yeah that!" she says, before you can ask a question, "what pairing color did you get?"

"Er… orange…"

"Yeah, it suits you both", she observes, sitting in front of you, "since you and your master are experiencing the first flames of passion," she adds with a wink.  
What she said just confuses you more.

Jessica looks at her wrist pensively, "I think orange could suit me too, and red could be quite cute on you. Indeed, I guess I'll wear an orange wristband at some point in the party because M.Turner will probably want to make an exchange with your master. Honestly, I don't mind. When I first saw him, I thought M. O'Gorman was not my type but I changed my mind, I adore his smile. And don't be afraid, you'll have a good time with my master, he's really charming, but you already know it."

You wave the cardboard in front of her face, "Awesome! But I don't actually know what the f*%k is going on here. What are you talking about?"

She relaxes on the back of her chair and crosses her long legs. "Ah yeah sorry… I forgot that you are new in this world. So you know nothing at all about the private parties?"

"Nothing," you confess.

"Well, these are parties where only the cast and their PA are invited. In fact you're not allowed to talk about it to anyone except the ones who are ont he guests list."

You nod, not sure why it has to be so secret.

"This is the only place where you can break rule number one. That's why these parties are so fun. Displays of attraction between a master and his PA are allowed because everybody there knows what's going on between you and him."

You take a sip of your drink, trying not to feel too ashamed. You are not very good at following the rules, since you broke rule number one twice today.

"What is the pairing color's for?" you ask, curious.

"Oh! When you arrive at the party, both you and your master receive a wristband of your pairing color."

"ok…" You take another sip.

"The color associates you with your master but he can exchange the wristband with another cast mate and exchange you at the same time."

You nearly spit your drink at that. You manage to swallow it and you cough a couple time. Jess pats your knees with a little laugh.

"When you say "exchange"… you don't mean "exchange-exchange" right?" you ask, nervous, because she cannot really mean what you think she means. If she had told you that three weeks ago, you'd probably been convinced that she was making fun of you... but because of the things you learnt two days ago, you now suspect that there is a lot of troubling things you don't know yet.

"When I say "exchange" I mean that your master can lend you to another actor in exchange of his own PA."

"Oh my god…" you whisper, completely astonished, "they can lend us… like we were their possessions and we have nothing to say?"

"No no! Of course you have to give your consent for the exchange to be valid; it's how the game is working. You can be exchanged several times in the same party, as long as you want to play the game. When the party is over, all the exchanges are annulled, at least in theory because I already saw girls leaving a private party with another master. As long as it's consensual, I don't see the harm though."

You watch her with wide eyes, trying to put together all the puzzle pieces.

"So… I'm expected to make out in front of everyone with another master?"

"Don't panic! Usually, being exchanged means keeping company to the other man, chatting and drinking with him. Your master and the other actor are setting rules before the exchange, if your master allows kissing, and that you are okay with that too… then yes you can make out with another man. But that doesn't happen frequently."

 

……………………………………………..

 

When you wake up the next morning, it's Sunday and you have most of your day off, so you stay a while in your bed, looking blankly at the ceiling, still a bit troubled by your last conversation with Jess.

All the things that happen to you these days are so weird… but good and exciting at the same time. You really don't know what to think about all this and what to expect, especially about the private party.

You eat your breakfast and stay in your pyjama in your living room, procrastinating on your laptop. At some point in the afternoon, you decide to make a bit of work so you open your emails and read your master's work schedule for the next two weeks. You write some lists of things to buy for him and other lists of the important things that you need to remember to bring with you on the set. Like every week, you open a Word page to make a simplified schedule with a pretty color code that your boss can pin in his trailer.  
You are focused on your task when your phone vibrates on the couch next to you.

-Good day, sunshine! I just found an invitation in my mailbox, did you already get yours?-D.O'-

-Hi! Yes, got it.-[you]-

\- :( -D.O'-

You frown.

-What's the matter? –[you]-

-I don't like to share. –D.O'-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is only the fruit of my depraved imagination and has nothing to do with the real actors and their real life. It is entirely fictional. 
> 
> Again, sorry for the mistakes, I reread myself several times but I'm sure there is still a lot of incorrect verb tenses and grammar. I'm slowly getting better in English but it's a slow process. 
> 
> Please comment if you want other chapters so i'll know if this story worth I put energy and time on it!
> 
>  


	4. Ants in One's Pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Mr O'Gorman get ready for the private party. He takes this opportunity to make you melt with a bit of sexy talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised some smut but I realized that it was going to be a VERY LONG chapter, so I decided to post the first part of the chapter and there is no real smut in it. Sorry for the waiting.
> 
> Someone asked me to post shorter chapters and update more often, so that's what I'll do from now on. You can read this as an introduction for the next chapter. I know it's not filled with much action. Hope you'll like it anyway!! 
> 
> Please write a comment, it help me understand where you want me to go with that story and gives me some fuel to write other chapters.
> 
> This story is only the fruit of my depraved imagination and has nothing to do with the real actors and their real life. It is entirely fictional.

You head up to your boss's trailer, it's Monday morning 6:00 AM, it's raining and your eyes are still glued. You knock at the door just to be polite because you know he is not in there. You know he already is in make-up. There is no answer, so you take the keys out of your pocket, muffle a yawn with your hand and unlock the door. You pin his schedule on the wall and put a couple things in the fridge. 

You leave the trailer, go directly to the catering and grab two coffees. Then, you head up to the make-up department like a zombie, taking tiny sips in your own cup, trying not to burn your lips with the hot beverage. 

The first person you see when you cross the door is Mr Turner. He greets you with a "Good morning darling!, " He flashes you one of his charming smiles that could light up an entire city. 

"Good morning sir!" you tell him back, feeling a bit embarrassed for the first time in his presence. You cannot help but remember what Jess told you about him and the fact that he will probably ask your master for an exchange during the party. Now that you know how your boss is feeling about that, you just wish he will not freak out if his best mate asks him for an exchange. You don't want to be the cause of a dispute between them. 

Talking about Jess, you look around and she not seems to be there. 

"Where is Jessica?" you ask him. 

" She had some shopping to do for both of us," he lowers his voice so the make-up artists that are working around like busy bees cannot hear him, "she has to find two costumes for the party."

"Costumes?" you whisper, not sure what he is talking about. 

"It's a fancy dress party! You didn't know it?" he murmurs. 

"No! Apparently, I'm always the last to know what's going on!" you growl, a bit irritated, "The invitation I got didn't mentioned we had to wear costumes!"

Mr Turner raises one expressive brow, "No of course, it wasn't on your invitation, but it was on Dean's, along with the theme of the party. I'm surprised he didn't tell you."  
"He told me nothing about that!"

Like if the mention of his first name has invoked him from the depths of the make-up department, your boss appears out of nowhere. He already has his Fili makeup, wig and prosthetic ears and nose, but he is still wearing a tight black t-shirt and some grey jogging pants. 

"Hi there! Oh Thanks! You're my savior!" the half-dwarf half-kiwi creature greets you with a relieved sigh, taking his coffee from your hand like his life depended on it. 

"Careful! It's still hot!" you warn him before he could take a sip. 

He takes a careful sip and smiles at you, "Thanks again, I needed it so bad! I didn't get much sleep last night."

Mr Turner's phone rings suddenly, "I must take it, see ya later!" he answers his phone and leaves the room. 

You take a look at you watch. "We must go to the dressing room now if we want to be on the set at 7:00." After all it's your job to make sure he isn't late. 

 

On your way to the costumes department, you ask him about the costumes for the party. 

"You can let me take care of that! You already have enough work," he tells you while you walk through the parking, trying to protect his make- up and wig from the rain with an umbrella. 

"Mr Turner told me there was also a theme, what is it?" you question him. 

"Yes, we must dress as what our characters would look like if they were living in the modern world and our PA must wear a costume that matches with ours."  
"Interesting, it's like a modern AU."

"A what ?"

You bite your lower lip, realizing what you just said. You are not supposed to talk to actors about fan fiction. That's never a good idea. 

"Oh, it means modern Alternate Universe… it's an internet term… stuff…"

He seems satisfied with that explanation and doesn't ask for more. 

"Do you already have an idea of what Fili would look like if he was living in our world?" you ask him.  
"I have an idea or two but it'll be a surprise" he answers and he winks at you before you step in the building.

 

……………………………………

 

The rest of the week is uneventful. Your boss acts like nothing happened between you the previous week-end. It makes you sad somehow but at the same time, you can't expect him to act like you are a couple… because you are NOT a couple. You cannot help but wonder if he still feels some kind of attraction for you. You look at how the other assistants act with their master and you realize that they are indeed very subtle. But despite that necessary distance between them, there is still something very tender in the way Ros, for example, gathers Mr Armitage's long strands of black hair in order to tie them back while he waits between the scenes. And there is something intimate in the way he thanks her with a fond smile. But maybe it's just you who see only what you want to see in order to torture yourself. Somehow, you manage to chase these thoughts from your mind. In fact Mr O'Gorman is still sweet, kind and funny… but he always is and you feel as if nothing had changed between you. Maybe it's better this way, you think. 

The week of shooting is intense. You don't even have the time to think about anything else beside the job. You try to stay focus despite the exhaustion and to be there and smile every time your master needs something. You cannot really complain, you are not the one swinging heavy swords in a fat suit all day long. On Thursday evening, you tumble in your bed at the end of the day without even brushing your teeth—sleeping is the only thing you can think about. You are about to fall asleep when you hear the tell-tale sound of a new text on your phone. You groan but stretch out a hand to grab your phone on the night stand. 

-You're there?- D,O'-  
-Was about to sleep.-[you]  
-oh! 'm sorry! :S Didn't want to wake you. I'm a bad boy. :( -D.O'-  
\- it's ok :) How can I help you? –[you]  
-I just wanted to tell you that I finally found something we can wear tomorrow night. –D.O'- 

Your heart jumps slightly in your chest when you realize that "oh f&&&k!", it's already tomorrow!

-Cool!-[you]  
-Maybe we could meet at my place tomorrow after work and show up at the party together. –D.O'-  
-That sounds like a plan!-[you] 

Your phone remain silent for a moment and you are about to put it back on your night stand, thinking that the conversation is over when he sends you another text. 

-[Y/N] ??-D.O'-  
-Yes?-[you]  
-I keep thinking all the time about the night we spent together.-D.O'-

You cannot help but smile. He obviously still wants you, which is a relief. But now, what are you going to answer to that? You stare at your phone for a moment, are you going to ignore it, underplay your need of him, or be honest? 

-You're still there? You know, you don't have to say anything back :S –D.O'-

You finally choose honesty but you're not sure if it's the right choice. 

-Me too, I think about it all the time.-[you] 

And sadly, even if you're not supposed to fall for him, it's nothing but the truth. Whenever you see him or think about him, you remember the way he chased your nightmare, holding you tight in his embrace. You remember the warmth of his body under the covers, his scent, his slow breathing and the beating of his heart under your head. 

-I'm very glad we think alike. :) Good night, sweet dreams. –D.O'-

You fall asleep within minutes and in your dreams, you are in his arms and nothing else exists beside him.

 

……………………………………………………………

 

"I searched on the net almost all night long on Wednesday, but apparently, the feminine version of my costume always looks like it's coming from a porn star's closet and I didn't want you to look like a call girl, that's not like you," he explains. 

You just arrived at his place after a quick shower at the end of the day. He still wears a pair of jeans and a green hoodie and you haven't seen the mysterious costume yet. You don't even know what it is. 

"I'm touched you thought to preserve my dignity!" you tease him, still grateful he didn't purchase you a costume that would have made you look like a whore. 

"I want that you be classy, not vulgar. That's why I bought you a dress. It will not be like a real costume but at least, the colors will match. It was the best I could do."

"You bought me a dress?"

"Yup!" He answers as if it wasn't a big deal

He disappears in his bedroom and comes back with a paper bag. "I hope it'll fit."

He gives you the bag with a hopeful look that makes him even more adorable. You take the dress and unfold it. It's a navy blue dress with lace on the shoulders and the back. It's seductive and feminine but not provocative.

"ohh, it's really beautiful, thank you!" you whisper. 

He smiles and takes the bag from your hand and takes a box that you haven't noticed yet out of it. "I also bought a necklace and ear pendants that you can wear if you want. I thought you could like it. I figured that you couldn't bring your own jewellery with you since you didn't know the color of the dress yet. "He hands you the box with a shy little smile.

You open the box and it's as beautiful as the dress. 

"Aww, Thanks sir, you shouldn't have. How much do I owe you?"

"Nonsense, it's a gift, you owe me nothing", he replies as he helps you putting on the chain around your neck. "Pease, don't think I'm trying to repay or buy any kind of favor from you with that gift okay? I just want you to have a good time tonight and it's my way to contribute to it." 

You put the ear pendants and he takes a step back to look at you. His smile is warm. "You'll be stunning tonight," he whispers, caressing your cheek. He licks his lower lip slowly and you close the space between you and kiss his beautiful mouth because you cannot resist him when he does that. You grasp his hoodie to drag him closer. He chuckles softly in the kiss, amused and delighted by your fervor. It's the first kiss you exchange since the last one in the car a week ago and it's perfect. 

"You can get dress in the bathroom," he tells you when you break the kiss, "I'll use the bedroom."

You go in his bathroom and you change your clothes. You realize that the dress fits just well on your body, he really is an observer, but you cannot expect less coming from a photographer.

When you come out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, your master is waiting for you, leaning casually on the kitchen's doorframe. The very moment you lay your eyes on him, you lose the ability to breath for a couple seconds. 

If you thought your boss couldn't be sexier, then you were wrong. 

Apparently, if Fili had lived in the modern world, he would be a police officer because right now, your boss is wearing a police uniform that suits him like it was a second skin. You swallow slowly because you're sure it's a matter of time before you begin to drool on the floor. 

The shirt's collar shows you a glimpse of manly chest covered with tempting ginger-blond hair and the short sleeves shows you his manly forearms. The buttons of this shirt beg to be undone. The trouser is sinfully tight around his firm thighs, hips and ass, but he stills look manly as hell. The word "bootylicious" cross your mind. You could give all the gold of Erebor to be allowed to slip both hands the back pockets of this trouser. 

"You look amazing," he says softly, appraising you with a shadow of longing in his eyes-- a dark sparkle of lust enhanced by the navy blue color of his uniform. 

"Thank you," you reply, blushing slightly at the compliment, "but I think every girl at that party will discover herself a kink for police officers!"

He looks down at his costume, "You think so?"

"Never been that sure about something in my entire life!" You gesture toward his costume, "but …I…you… did you really need to wear a trouser so tight?" 

"Is it too tight? I should have known it would look ridiculous!" he sighs. 

"No! that's not what I wanted to say! I just think it's rather distracting," you reply.

" Ohh…I see.." he murmurs, when he finally understands how you really feel about his costume. 

He comes closer, looking into your eyes and suddenly, the atmosphere is filled with sexual tension. He puts his hands on your hips and leans down to whisper in your ear. "Oh my sweet sexy girl," the vibration of his low voice and his warm breath in your neck make you shiver. "Tell me what do you want me to do to you while wearing that costume?"  
The usually so reserved and gentle Dean O'Gorman is actually talking sexy to you and it's a side of his personality you wouldn't mind exploring a little more. Your lips parted in a shaky panting of arousal, because there are so, so many things you want him to do to you. 

"Don't be afraid, you can tell me everything, I won't repeat it to anybody," he purrs in your ear, caressing your hips through the fabric of the dress, "but I can't promise that these informations cannot be held against you," he adds before pressing three slow kisses in the crook of your exposed neck." When I say 'held against you' I mean that I'm allowed to use them to send you to heaven."

You cannot make a coherent answer and the only thing that can come out of your mouth is a soft whimper.

"Help me understand how to please you," he whispers huskily. He rubs the tip of his nose on the sensitive skin just behind your right ear, "I need to know what you like. Teach me how to give you pleasure." He presses a kiss where he was teasing you with his nose. " You'll see that I'm a very attentive student." 

His hot words go directly between your legs and your head is spinning, you want him so much it's nearly painful. You put your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply. He teases your lips with the tip of his tongue and it drives you crazy. His hand caresses your waist and goes down on your hip and then, his hand makes his way lower. You think you're about to lost all inhibition and you whimper helplessly against his lips. You melt in his hands and his intimate caresses turn you into a trembling mess of desire.  
He breaks the kiss but keep you against him.

"You love it when I kiss you, huh?" 

"Yes… I do" 

"I love kissing you too. Where do you want me to kiss you? Is there a special place it would be so good I could make you scream with just one kiss?" he asks you, his eyes dark with desire.

"I…"

"I can kiss the inside of your thighs. Is that what you want?" 

You nod and you hide your face in his neck because the mere thought of his lips down there is enough to make you moan. 

"You don't have to be ashamed, it's perfectly normal to want that kind of things." he tells you, running his hand on the back of your neck. "And I would be a very lucky man if you would let me give it to you."

 

"But it'll have to wait," he adds, suddenly breaking the embrace and taking his keys on the counter. "We have to be at the studio in 15 minutes and if this trouser is as tight as you claim, I don't want that everybody to see how much I want you," he adds playfully.

 

You laugh. "You like to drive me crazy at inappropriate moments and then leave me with nothing, don't you?" 

He kisses your forehead gently. "I'm sorry about that, really. Trust me, I can hardly wait to have you. But after this party, if you're still with me, I promise I will repent for my sins and worship you just the way you deserve."

"Why should I be with someone else at the end of this party?"

"We never know what could happen in these parties," he growls between his teeth, suddenly moody. 

You raise an eyebrow but make no comments.

 

A couple minutes later, you notice a big black SUV with tinted windows parked in front of Mr O'Gorman's rented house, apparently waiting for you. 

"I thought we were taking your car or a cab," you ask your boss as he locks his front door. 

"Nop! We are not allowed to go there with our car because they don't want us to drive drunk."

"Which is understandable, but why not a cab?" 

"Because the cabbies can recognize us. They can sell their story to some gossip magazine for example. That's why they hired private security companies to drive us."

You remain silent, realizing once more that your relationship with your boss has to remain secret and hidden. 

A big guy in a black suit comes out of the SUV. 

"Mr O'Gorman, Miss [Y/LN], my name is Tanner, I'll be your driver for tonight."  
Your boss shakes his hand and Tanner opens the door for you and your master. 

You buckle up your seat belt and take a deep breath. All this formality, the private driver and stuff, it doesn't help soothing your nerves at all, and you have ants in your pants… well… dress. 

As if he had felt the tension in your body, your boss intertwines your fingers with his and put a quick kiss on the back of your hand.  
He takes off his policeman cap and puts on your head.  
You smile at him.  
"It suits you, you should keep it," he says.  
He takes his sunglasses from his pocket and puts them on his head.  
"At least, nobody will be able to tell me that I'm not wearing a costume," you acknowledge.  
"Exactly"

 

………………………………………………………………………… 

As soon as you step in the studio #2, you hear loud music coming from the second floor. You're still very nervous and you dust imaginary dirt from your dress.

Mr O'Gorman offers you his arm and looks at you with a forced smile. 

You take his arm, "Is everything okay?" you ask. 

"Don't worry, all this party stuff is getting on my nerves but I'll survive. Don't mind me and have fun okay?" 

"You can relax you know. I'm not going to leave this place with anybody else but you, if that's what's bothering you. I want to end the night in your arms."

The shy but more convinced smile he gives you as you climb the stairs with him confirms that it is exactly what was bothering him.

Two big body guards are standing each sides of the door like stone statues. 

"You are beautiful," Mr O'Gorman whispers in your ear while you are waiting while one of the bouncers verifies your ID pass.

"You are pretty eatable yourself" you tell him, replacing his sun glasses in his hair, trying to tame his dishevelled mane a little. He let you playing with his hair as if it was normal for you to act like that with each other. You cannot help but think that, right now, you must surely look like a married couple. 

 

The body guard gives you back your ID cards and lets you in. 

 

 

to be continued...


	5. The Smile of the Cheshire Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He smiles at you -- a smile that lightens all his face and threatens to split it in two. "He smiles like the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland," you cannot help but think. You almost expect he will open his mouth and say "we're all mad here." Because well, you are a bit like Alice in Wonderland since you began working on this movie set, all seems crazy and wonderful at the same time, especially in that party where everybody with their costumes seem to come out from another world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is only the fruit of my depraved imagination and has nothing to do with the real actors and their real life. It is entirely fictional. 
> 
> I had to change the rating of this story (I'm sorry) because sex, gentle sex, but still sex. 
> 
> It's the first straight sex scene I write so please be indulgent with me! O_O and thanks to my wonderful husband for the *cough* inspiration *cough*. lol
> 
> I tried to read it a couple times to correct my mistakes but it's getting late and I'm tired so there is probably a lot of english mistakes and I'm sorry about that. 
> 
> I hope you'll like it anyway and thanks in advance for your comments and feedback !

"Oi Deano!" a man with a black hood calls your master as soon as you enter the room, "here is your wrist band and the one for your lady," he tells you, giving you your orange wristbands. You recognize Jed Brophy's voice even if you can't see his face. Since Nori is a thief, it makes sense. 

 

Your master slides your wristband gently around your wrist and caresses your pulse point with his thumb soothingly. You smile at him in the dim light. You are glad to realize that his presence means comfort and security for you. You would be so glad just to be on the couch at his place, between Batman and your master, safe in your boss' arms, just listening to the quiet drumming of his heart. That would be heaven. Now you don't feel comfortable at all. It's nerve racking and you don't know how to act.

 

Through the spot lights and artificial fog, you spot Mr Turner and Jessica. They are busy kissing the air out of each other's lung and it's rather disturbing. It's actually the first time you see them kiss and even if you're aware that rule number one doesn't apply here, it's still a bit weird. Mr O'Gorman put a hand on the small of your back as you walk toward them. You must admit that Mr Turner's explorer/safari/Indiana jones' costume suits him very well. The beige shirt that would probably look ridiculous on anyone else just highlights his masculinity and the dark color of his curly hair. The rolled up sleeves enhance his muscular arms. He looks really stunning. Jess is wearing a sexy version of her master's costume that involves kaki short shorts and combat boots. 

"Hey hello officer Deano! Hello Miss! " Mr Turner greets you both when he notices your presence, " Fili is a policeman huh?" 

"He's supposed to be courageous and protect other people, his brother to start with, I thought it was appropriate," Mr O'Gorman explains. 

"Legit!" Mr Turner acknowledges, "and since I'm the reckless, adventurous younger brother, I thought it was appropriate!" 

"Yes, that was a great idea, Aid, " your master adds, " I also thought about dressing like a soldier since Fili is a warrior but Graham thought about it first, he phoned me to ask if he could borrow me one of my Vietnam soldier's costumes. "

"Suits him well indeed!," Jess's master comments, taking a look at Mr. McTavish who is busy chatting with his own PA at the other side of the room. 

As your masters continue to talk, Jess gives you a hug and compliments you on your dress. 

"Did you tell your boss that he isn't allowed to be a living incarnation of a female's sex fantasy like that? Did he think about our poor ovaries?" she comments. 

You burst in laughter, "Yes I warned him, but I'm not complaining, you know."

"Of course you're not complaining," she agrees, biting her lower lips as she appraises your adorable unsuspecting master like a predator. "I have the sudden urge to misbehave, hoping he would arrest me," she adds. 

You have no time to be jealous or alarmed or whatever you could be because you're distracted by the arrival of a majestic Thorin Oakenshield dressed as a captain accompanied by Ros, very cute in her stewardess costume.

"Good evening my dear nephews," he greets Fili and Kili, putting a strong hand on their shoulders. 

"You have a really lovely dress, and I love your necklace, where did you buy it ?" Ros asks you. 

"I don't know, it is a nice gift from a very generous person," you comment. 

You feel your master's hand coming around your waist as he presses you against his side and kiss your temple. 

Suddenly, Mr Armitage is in front of you, without a warning, he takes your hand and presses a gentle kiss on it as he bows before you. You watch him with wide eyes, trying not to blush. 

"Dear lady, would you make me the honor of beginning the soirée in my humble company?" he asks you, "if it's okay with my dear PA of course," he adds looking at Ros. 

"That's fine with me," she agrees with a smile. 

"Dean?", the Englishman asks, looking at your master. 

You catch your boss' gaze and feel him tensed. You see his Adam's apple going up and down as he gulps. "Yeah… yeah… why not?" he finally agrees, not really excited by the idea. He let go of your waist reluctantly in order to removing your wristband and exchanging it with Ros' blue one. 

"I'll try not to be too boring," Mr Armitage jokes.

Your master leans toward you and whispers, "If he begins to talk about spoons, run for your life!!" You share a knowing laugh before he finally let you go. 

You take Mr Armitage's arm and follow him toward the bar. 

"How is it going?," he asks, handing you a drink. 

"Fine," you answer with a little smile, staring at the other side of the room at your master who is chatting casually with Ros. 

"And with Dean?", he asks carefully.

"Oh yeah fine! Everything's good." Your reply, tearing your gaze from your boss' manly silhouette and trying to hide a goofy smile. 

"I'm glad to see it's working between you two," Mr Armitage comments,"I must say I was worried for him." 

"Why?" you ask, suddenly very interested by what he has to say. 

"He'll probably be angry when he'll know that I told you but…. He came to my trailer two weeks ago to talk to me and Aidan in private. Poor Dean, he was so down. He was really afraid that you two wouldn't get along. You know, it's the PA who's supposed to make the first move to let her boss know that she is interested to take the relation to a …" he coughs shyly, " a more intimate level if you know what I mean."

You nod. 

"So Dean was waiting for you to make a move but it didn't happened," he continues, " he was frightened that you would never want him since he was like a second choice for you, after Rob. You hadn't had the chance to meet him before starting the job. He didn't know what to do and asked for advices, since he knew that Aidan and I were already quite close to our PA. "

"I'm glad to learn that the Durin family made a council to talk about me," you say. 

He lets out a low laugh.  
"What did you tell him?" you ask, curious. 

"Aidan had observed you during the shooting so he told Dean that he was pretty sure the attraction was mutual. We advised him to make a move and see how you would react."  
You pull a face, still a bit ashamed. "It didn't work well. I panicked and rejected him," you point out. 

"Yeah, I know," he sighs, " Aidan told me Dean was very miserable when he called him just after you left. He even talked about quitting the job." 

"Did he? That's a bit extreme…" you point out. 

"I don't think he would've done it either. I just think it was the emotion talking. He was feeling guilty that he scared you."

You lower your head and look at your feet, feeling slightly guilty. 

Mr Armitage puts a large hand on your shoulder. "Nobody is blaming you in this story, you know. Dean doesn't blame you. I can see he has a great deal of affection for you. You were in the dark, you didn't know what was going on and you were probably as confused as him. But we couldn't lose our Fili. That's why Jessica offered to talk to you."  
"Oh yeah, you sent the cavalry!" you say with a smirk. 

"All I'm saying is that I'm glad to see everything is fine now. Dean seems cheerful more than ever these days and I think you make him very happy," he tells you with a warm smile. 

"He makes me happy too," you confess. You take a look at your master above your shoulder and you see that he is watching you from afar. He smiles fondly and winks at you, you smile back. 

You continue sipping slowly now and then in your own drink and enjoy a nice conversation with Mr Armitage about movies, music and books. He's very gentlemanly and sweet and you like listening to his very low voice. He asks you a lot of questions and you are happy to answer. 

About one hour later, Ros rejoins you and asks to have her boss back. You oblige and exchange the wristband with her. 

"I think she finds me a bit boring," Mr O'Gorman comments out loud. 

"NO no, of course not!," she hastens to reply, being her always polite self. But as you are about to go, she whispers in your ear, "he was looking at you all the time, I don't think he remembers a single thing I said". She didn't seems offended, just amused. 

 

"What are all those secrets, are you plotting against me?," he asks playfully as you take his arm and follow him. 

"No, no, it's nothing," you say innocently. 

"You know I can use every kind of persuasions to make you confess your crimes", he jokes, playing with his handcuffs on his belt. 

"I won't take much persuasion Sergeant Fili," you tease him. 

He smiles, takes a look around to be sure nobody is watching your way. He holds you tight against him and presses a tender kiss on your mouth. He just drinks a Grand Marnier with ice cubes and the taste of alcohol on his fresh lips is pleasing and slightly intoxicating. 

You are glad that the party is not going too bad so far and that you are actually having fun. 

Mr Turner and Jessica join you and you talk together for a while. 

Suddenly, the audio system switches on a new song. Mr Turner's face lightens. "Oh a salsa! I love to dance those!"

"I can't dance to save my life," your boss confesses.

"That's why I must dance with your PA of course!!!," the Irishman says cheerfully, "do you want to make an exchange Deano?"

You feel your master's hand on your hip tighten its grip just slightly. 

"Dancing, just dancing, nothing else I promise!," the dark haired man tries to convince his friend. Mr Turner doesn't have to ask his own PA's agreement, he seems to be aware of the fact that Jess really wants to spend some time with the policeman. 

You look at your master and nod to tell him that you're okay with the exchange. 

"Okay…" he sighed. Your master kisses your temple, "have fun but beware, the legend says that when a woman is bewitched by an Irishman, her heart is lost forever," he jokes as you adjust the red bracelet on your wrist. "Don't worry, they say the same thing about kiwi guys," you reassure him. 

 

Mr Turner takes your hand and guides you to the center of the dance floor. 

He keeps your hand in his and put the other one on your hip as he shows you some simple steps. You try to follow his instructions, knowing he is a trained ballroom dancer. His hand is warm and heavy and seems so large it can engulf your hip entirely in his gentle grip and you would be lying if you said you don't enjoy it. 

"When you step back, you have to follow the movement with your hip, "he explains, "just like that," he adds, guiding your hip up with his hand." That's it! You're doing great!"  
"Thanks!" you reply shyly, noticing how good he smells as he steps closer to you as the rhythm becomes more languorous. 

"You're doing well but you think about your steps too much," he scolds you gently, " stop looking at your feet, look me in the eyes and feel the music in your body, your feet will follow."

You look up in his deep brown eyes and… oh god! He has beautiful kissable lips, beautiful intense eyes… and you are not blind so you cannot help but see them. All his being releases masculinity and sensuality, wilderness and attractiveness. 

He smiles at you -- a smile that lightens all his face and threatens to split it is two. "He smiles like the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland," you cannot help but think. You almost expect he will open his mouth and say "we're all mad here." Because well, you are a bit like Alice in Wonderland since you began working on this movie set, all seems crazy and wonderful at the same time, especially in that party where everybody with their costumes seem to come out from another world. 

You cannot stop looking at the gorgeous young man's face who's still guiding your hips in languid moves. He rested your forehead on yours while you dance together, his soft dark curls tickling your skin and his breath warming your face. Yes he is gorgeous … he is indeed… but he doesn't have clear mischievous blue eyes. He doesn't have a golden mane that seems to be constantly untamed and a beard he is a little ashamed of, that doesn't seem to know if it wants to be blond or ginger. He doesn't have expressive hands that move a LOT when he talks about something he likes. He doesn't have this shy smile and this adorable little laugh. Mr Turner may be perfect, he has a huge flaw -- he isn't Dean O'Gorman. 

"Oh my god! No! I'm falling in love. I shouldn't." You cannot help thinking, "and it took the smile of another man to realize that." 

The song ends and Mr Turner makes you spin around gracefully in his strong arms in an elegant final.

 

 

As soon as the song finishes, there is other pair of hands on your waist and your red waistband is removed from your wrist, soon replaced by the orange one. 

"My turn to dance with you now," your boss says, his lips just above your ear, "you'll see how graceful I am." 

A pop song begins. You take a look above your master's shoulder and you can see that Mr Turner and Jess are performing a sexy dance, really close to each other, like they were in a crowded nightclub. 

Your master has one hand on your hip, the other in the air and dances in front of you without any real skill. You try your best to follow and it's a miracle you don't step on each other's feet. It's not sensual at all but it's funny as hell as your master assumes completely his lack of dancing skills, dancing like the world is going to end. He just tries to make you laugh and to make fun of himself at the same time. And it works far too well because Mr O'Gorman is an actual ten years old in the gorgeous body of a 36 years old man. You can hear some wolf whistles from his cast mates as they watch the scene with amusement. 

When your boss starts to sing along with lady Gaga like he was alone in his shower, "CAN'T READ MY, CAN'T READ MY, NO HE CAN'T READ ME POOOKER FACE!". You're laughing so hard it nearly hurts. You two ended up giggling in each other's neck. 

"That's the best I can do. " he says, trying to catch his breath. 

"That's okay! That was rather entertaining!," you say, smiling to him. 

The song changes to a slow one. He takes you closer in his arms and you nestle your head on his shoulder. "You can't be talented in everything, you know," you point out, playing distractedly with his uniform buttons. 

"I know, but you must admit that dance is a sexier talent than photography."  
"I think photography is really sexy," you object honestly running a hand on the chest you crave to explore in a bare state. 

 

His embrace tightens around you and you hum in the hug as he rocks you gently side to side, along with the music rhythm.  
"Baby?" he asks softly.  
It takes to your brain a couple seconds to understand that he is talking to you. Your heart makes a leap in your chest. It's the first time he calls you "baby".  
"Yes?"  
"I would want to take you home with me now."  
It's still early in the evening but you cannot wait to be alone with him either.  
"Okay" you agree in a whisper. 

His blue eyes are sparkling in the half-darkness. He leans slowly towards you to kiss you and you are about to close your eyes when someone grabs you by the arm. 

You snap your eyes open and you see a really drunk Stephen Hunter, dressed like a chef, with a green wristband in his outstretched hand. 

"I want to borrow your lady please!" he asks your boss. 

"Errr…", your master seems to hesitate. You see that he doesn't really like the idea but at the same time he doesn't know if he is really allowed to refuse. He is still the last addition to the cast and he still has to make his place in the group. 

He looks at you but you shrug, not sure what to do either. You don't really want to go with Mr Hunter, you want to stay in your master's protective arms, but you understand your boss' inner conflict and you don't want to stain his reputation. 

" Come on Deano-Deano! I won't bite her! I just want a bit of fun! And my PA is more than keen to spend a little moment with Fili, the handsome policeman," he spurs, gesturing clumsily towards Mercedes, his own PA, a curvy Mexican woman. She smiles politely at your master and he replies with a forced little smile. 

"You're okay with that?" Mr O'Gorman asks you. 

"Hum, I guess I am," you reply, not entirely sure, taking your wristband off and giving it to your boss. 

" Awesome!", Mr Hunter says, taking your hand and putting the green one around your wrist. 

Mercedes approaches your master with a shy smile and reaches his hand out for your boss to put her your orange bracelet. He watches you leave with a worried look as Bombur drags you by the hand to the couches at the opposite corner of the studio. 

You sit on the couch beside your new "owner". He gives you a drink from a table nearby and he tries to make conversation with you but in his state of drunkenness, you're not even sure to understand what he is talking about. 

At some point, you stand up in order to get rid of your empty glass but as you come back to your seat, Mr Hunter grabs you by the waist and drags you down on his laps. You freeze, paralyzed, you don't know what to say or do. You know that your boss's place in this production is maybe at stake. You stand still on Mr Hunter's lap and don't move from an inch. He laughs drunkenly when he sees the surprise in your face. He is so intoxicated he won't probably even remember he did that. 

You look stealthily at your master and you see he is staring your way, all his body is tensed and he seems to hold his glass of whiskey so tight in his fist that you wonder if it would explode in his hand at any moment. 

Mr Hunter is now engaged in a really confused conversation with Mr Brophy about the possibility that Middle-Earth was in fact New-Zealand but in the future, after a biological war that would've transformed humans into dwarves and elves. You are busy trying to find a way to escape the embarrassing situation when Mr Hunter puts a hand on your knee. At first you don't really pay attention to it. Your master, on the other hand, looks like he could kill someone with his stare only.

The hand on your knee suddenly makes its way slowly to the outside of your thigh and a bit under the edge of your dress. You stiffen, and your eyes widen as you shoot a panicked glance to your boss. 

"Mr Hunter…" you begin, looking at the man you are sit on, " I.. I don't think it's appropriate…",you stutter.

"What's the matter darling?," the drunk actor asks you, still running his hand on your thigh. 

"OKAY! THAT'S ENOUGH NOW!" a very angry voice shouts. 

You turn your head and see your boss rushing towards you, his face red with anger. He takes your hand and helps you standing up.  
"FUCK STEVE! YOU DIDN'T SEE SHE WAS UNCOMFORTABLE?? YOU ARE NOT ABLE TO KEEP YOUR HANDS FOR YOUSELF OR WHAT, YOU EGG!?", he yells. 

Everybody in the room is looking at your master with wide eyes. 

You take the green wristband off but your boss takes it from your hand and throws it at Mr Hunter's feet with a growl of anger. "You can keep that," he hisses, " I'm so done with that shit, I'm out of here!!!" Your master headed to the door as fast as he can, cursing with anger. 

"Deano!! Deano!! Wait!!" Aidan shouts, trying to catch his friend.  
"Leave me alone, Aid," he snaps back before disappearing through the studio's door. 

"I'm… I'm sorry," you apologize to the actors gathered around, not sure for what exactly you are sorry. 

Mr Turner calls your name as you're about to leave the studio. 

"That's okay, I got this," you reassure him, "I'll talk to him…" 

The bouncers give you a curious look when you cross the door. 

You finally find your master down the stairs, his back leaning against the wall in a dark corner. He is rubbing his temples with his hands and you cannot see his face. 

"Sir… are you okay?" you ask, approaching him like he was a wild untamed animal. 

"I'm sorry…" he says pitifully when he notices your presence, "I'm not usually so hot-tempered." 

"I know," you breathe, pressing a tentative kiss on the back of his hand with which he is hiding his eyes in shame, not daring to look at you. 

He removes his hand from his face and offers you a weak smile. But a second later the angst returns to his gorgeous features. He shakes his head and sighs. "I fucked up. They will hate me, all of them. Peter will fire me…"

You caress his cheek and pet his hair gently, knowing he likes when someone plays with his hair.

"I don't think so," you try to comfort him, "Mr Hunter was so drunk I don't think he will remember what happened."

"Being drunk is not an excuse to act like that!," he growls. Then he shook his head, ashamed, "Maybe he won't remember not but everybody else will -- Richard, Aidan, everybody, oh my god! I'm a total dick!!"

"Don't say that!," you object, " you kinda saved me, which was nice and very gentlemanly." 

"I couldn't just stand by and watch him molest you," he replies, "well, I definitely don't regret what I did, I just regret the way I did it.  
You look at each other in silence for a moment, your hand still in his hair. 

A little smirk appears on his lips, "I called him an egg!" 

You laugh softly, "you definitely did!" 

He takes you in a tight hug and sighs loudly. "I'm such a twit," he complains, "I wonder what you're still doing here with me." 

"Well… you are a sexy twit," you reply, leaning in the embrace, "with a police uniform," you add playfully, poking his belly with your forefinger. He squirms with the tickling sensation.

"You're a devil, you know that, right?" he asks you.  
"hum hum !", you agree, glad that you succeeded to cheer him up a little. 

He cups your face in his hand and lifts your chin up, your eyes meet his loving gaze. "You are MY adorable little devil…," he adds and the kiss he gives you is passionate and a tiny bit possessive but you don't mind at all. 

"I don't want to go back in there," he whispers when you break the kiss.  
"Me neither," you reply honestly.  
"Let's go back to my place huh?" he offers.  
"Sure"

 

One of the bouncers calls your private driver who picks you up ten minutes later. As soon as you climb in the black SUV, your master receives a text on his phone.  
He looks at his phone and frown, "It's from Aidan."  
"You should read it."  
He nods and flicks his finger a couple times on the screen.  
You feel your master relaxing a bit. "He says that Stephen is really ashamed and wants to say he's sorry. Aidan also says that everybody wonders where I am and if I'm all right."  
"I told you it would be okay," you say, resting your head on his shoulder. He takes your hand, intertwines your fingers and kisses the top of your head.  
You close your eyes and relax, enjoying his warm and solid presence for the rest of the ride. 

__________________________________________________

"Do you want to go home? I can call you a cab, " he offers when you enter his house. 

"You want me to go?", you ask, kneeling on the floor in order to pet Batman who tries to greet you with dog wet kisses. 

"Of course not," he says, frowning, " I just don't want you to feel that you're forced to stay." 

You stand up and sigh. "Can you forget that I'm your PA for a second please? If I didn't want to be here, I would be gone."

"I'll try to forget," he agrees, "Can you forget that I'm your boss for the rest of the night?"

"I think I can," you answer, smiling. 

He returns the smile, takes you hand and brings you closer. " You are really amazing in that dress, I think I made a good choice, it enhance your womanly curves beautifully," he whispers, "but I bet this dress would look better on my bedroom's floor."

You crack up immediately. You push him away playfully and you realize that he is grinning like an idiot. "Are you for real!?", you laugh," You already used that horrible pick up line on me, remember?"

"It always works better the second time," he replies, clearly making fun of you. 

You rise a brow, "Who am I talking to? Anders Johnson, is that you?" 

He giggles, "I'm kidding darling! 

"You sexy dork", you think with fondness. 

He circles you waist in his arms and gives you a soft smile. When the smile reaches his eyes, you know you are bewitched.-- all intelligible thoughts leaving your mind for good.  
"But seriously, you are gorgeous," he says with a low voice, "I couldn't tear my eyes off you tonight. God! I wanted you so much. I still want you very much right now." 

He kisses you, barely touching your lips first, but your own lips open slightly, asking for more as you close your eyes. He deepens the kiss and you give his inquisitive tongue a better access to your mouth. He's giving you exactly what you want and you cannot help but wonder if he gives sex like he kisses… and you definitely cannot wait to find out.  
His beard is a bit rough on your cheek and chin but you don't mind at all since his shapely lips and wet tongue are sinfully soft as they pay homage to your demanding mouth. It's slow, sensual and addictive. 

He traces the contour of your cheeks with his thumbs and you let out a little disappointed whimper when he breaks the kiss. "Better take that to the bedroom don't you think?" he asks you, " I want you to be comfortable and I want to take my time to do it right," he tells you. 

"Please, " is the only word you can say through the mist of desire that is clouding your mind. 

"Already begging me, I like that" he winks.

He stops just in front the bedroom's door and takes your mouth again in a voluptuous kiss. You already shared his bed but this time you know it's different. You know that if you cross the doorstep and enter your master's room, there is no coming back. If you enter this room, you accept the consequences of what could happen between you two. You know that everything will be different when you will step out of this room. 

You feel a little bit like one of the courtesans of a harem. The master has chosen you between all his concubines to keep him company tonight and it's your duty to satisfy him. It's your first time with him and you don't know what to expect. You can only wish he will be gentle and caring. Maybe you should be afraid but your master has gentle eyes so you don't really mind being the one he chose to share his bed. 

He breaks the kiss, takes you by the shoulders and turns you around in his arms so your back his resting against his chest. You open your eyes and realize that while he was kissing you, he managed to lead you in the bedroom, next to the bed and you barely noticed it. 

His hands move from your waist to your stomach and stay there. You cover his hands with yours. He rubs the tip of his nose on the nape of your neck and you shiver, it tickles your exposed skin and gives you goose bumps. You moan softly, your body flooded by the heat of desire. He nips gently his way up your neck with lips and teeth. You moan louder and rest your head back on his shoulder to make him understand that you surrender to his caresses.

One of his hands leaves your belly in order to caress the back of your neck and you hold your breath as your master slides down the zipper of your dress. He slips both hands on the skin of your shoulders and he frees them from the fabric of the dress. He kneels on the floor behind you and presses his lips on the small of your back, his hands teasing the skin of your hips as he pulls the dress down. The dress falls on the floor around your ankles. Then, he trails kisses up your spine as stands up again behind you. You are only wearing your bra and panties now and you are glad you thought about putting on your sexier kit. You cannot see his face and his reaction but you can hear his low and heavy breathing and you swear you can feel the burning of his gaze on your almost naked body. You cross your arms on your breast and shiver, feeling over-exposed.

You feel his arms hugging you around your shoulders from behind. He kisses your shoulder, trying to reassure you.

"You're nervous?" he asks you without any trace of mockery in his voice. 

"No", you lie. 

"It's okay to be nervous you know," he whispers. He takes your wrists gently and uncrosses your arms. "Don't hide yourself like that, you are beautiful and I want to see you."  
His hot breath in your ear just makes you shiver more.

He hugs you tighter, trying to envelop you in his arms. "You're all shaky. Are you cold?" 

You don't answer but put a kiss on one of his forearms, tasting his manly skin, tryning to tell him that everything's okay. 

"I'll be a good lover and make sure to warm you up, okay?" he purrs in your ear. 

Hearing him referring to himself as your "lover" for the first time actually does something to you, and it's a pleasing sensation. You know that you can trust him completely and you feel the last traces of shyness or nervousness leaving you. 

"Humm yes, I would like it very much," you tell him. 

You turn around so you face him and you let him kiss you one more time. There is passion, desire and lust in that kiss but no hurry, he wants to take his time with you and you are grateful. 

He lay you on the bed gently and crawls on top of you. You stay a moment, just looking in his deep blue eyes, getting use to his body weight and warmth above you.

"God, I want you so much" moans the gorgeous man above you. 

"Your wishes are orders M. O'Gorman" you tease, unbuttoning his shirt clumsily, craving for his skin. You want to caress him since the first time you laid your eyes on him. You want to explore that mature tanned body and nothing will stop you. 

You throw the navy blue shirt on the floor and you take two seconds to take a look at your lover and you feel lucky. He is sexy beyond recognition and he is not even aware of it, which makes him even more desirable. His blue lustful eyes are shining in the half darkness and the thin fleece of ginger-blond chest hair on his torso seems so soft and inviting.  
You caress his broad shoulders and strong arms. You run your hands on his stomach and your lips on his chest, pressing soft kisses on his skin that smells deliciously manly. You smile in your kiss when you feel goose bumps on his skin as he shivers under your touch and moans softly. His spicy scent and pheromones are delicious and it makes your head spinning. He looks at you from above and you can tell that he wants it as much as you do.

"It feels so good, the lips of a woman on me," he whispers, "I needed it so bad". 

You dig your fingertips in his back's muscles when he presses his hips against yours and you whimper at the sudden but delectable sensation of his hard clothed erection against your pelvis. You throw your head back, lips parted. He takes the opportunity to kiss your neck hungrily. It's just too much, the tickling but arousing sensation of his lips and the wet and erotic sound of his kisses on your flesh. You think you could come just with that: the contrast between the rough burning of his chin and the torturing softness of his lips. You rut unconsciously your pelvis against his, far too gone to even realizing it. You want friction, you want direct contact, skin on skin, you want his hard member where it feels good.

Your instincts are telling you that you have find a perfect male and that you want to join your body to his and feel him inside you.

However, your master seems to have other projects for you. His right hand slips between your back and the mattress and snaps your bra off in one swift move. The second after, your bra had rejoined his shirt on the bedroom's floor. 

He cups your breast gently and traces patterns with his thumb on your already hard and over-sensitive nipple. He looks at your face, aware of every reaction. Your lips part even more and a low moan escapes your throat. He kisses your breast and you arched your back, overwhelmed with the sensation of his tongue liking your nipple carefully. 

His hand continues to caress your breast tenderly but his mouth goes lower on your stomach. Your need of him is so intense, you feel insatiable. You squirm under him, asking for more, more stimulations even if you don't think you can take more without exploding. Your skin is already covered by a thin sheet of sweat.

His lips and tongue play with your skin around your navel and lingers there, tearing shaky little whimpers from your mouth. You feel the vibration of his voice as he groans against your skin. 

He lifts his head to look at you. "I love your belly," he says, his voice rough and husky, "I would like to fill it with pleasure." 

"Please… please…" you beg him in a moan, without really knowing what you asking him to do. You just want him to do something. 

He put his hands on your knees and parted your legs. He settles himself in between so your bended legs rest on each side of his ribcage as he keeps kissing your belly teasingly, merely brushing his lips on your hot skin. "Yes gorgeous?", he whispers, "tell me what you need."

"I…I…I want…oh!" you are not able to formulate a coherent answer because he just put his lips on the inside of one of your knees and he trails slow open-mouthed kisses along the inside of your thigh. It's so, so good you feel all hot and wet and you know exactly what you want now. You know exactly where you want him to put his mouth and his tongue.  
"Don't be shy baby, you can tell me what you need, I'm there to give it to you," he add between two kisses, his voice low and husky. 

You don't answer but moan and squirm on the bed as he nips at the skin of your lower belly, his tongue wetting the waist band of your panties. You run a hand in his soft golden mane and tug gently – he replies with an aroused moan. 

He suddenly stands up beside the bed, leaving you there, wanton and panting desperately. You whine softly at the loss of sensation. 

"I know babe, sorry, " he says with an apologetic look, taking off his belt and unbuttoning his pants, "but this trouser is getting far too tight for me now, I have to take it off."  
And before you can actually be prepared for what is coming, a very naked and very gorgeous kiwi is standing in the room in all his glory, apparently waiting for you to allow him to come back in the bed. The dim light that came from the kitchen by the bedroom door is enough bright so you can detail his features and to make his skin and hair look like gold.

The angles of his hips are sharp and virile, framing the sinful "V" of his belly muscles. The sight of his proudly erected cock makes you going mad with desire. You want him on and in you. 

He finally rejoins you in the bed . 

He slips his forefingers under the waistband of your panties. "We will take them off too, if you don't mind," he says, looking at your face to be sure you're okay with what he's doing. You swallow and you nod. He pulls your underwear down slowly along your legs and you can notice the lust in his gaze as he appraised your naked body.

"You're stunning," he murmurs. 

"So are you" you compliment him, you open your arms because you want him to come closer, to feel him against you, "come here," you whisper. 

A synchronized sound of pleasure came out from both your throat when your sweaty skins met. It's the first time your two naked bodies make contact and you definitely wish it's not the last one because it feels insanely good. 

His manly member is hard, scorching and heavy against one of your thighs. Your instincts push you to raise your hips from the mattress and to search the friction of his cock on your skin. "You're driving me crazy," he breathes. 

He doesn't lose any time and after you exchanged a long kiss, he lowers himself on you again. He parted your legs and presses a few tentative kisses on your belly and pubis, looking at your face through his blond lashes, trying to figure out is it's what you want as he places kisses lower and lower, painfully slowly. Your cries of pleasure cannot be mistaken --it's definitely what you want. 

You gasp when you feel one of his fingers pressing tentatively against your entrance.

"My god…, you're so wet, " he comments, clearly even more aroused by the realization of how much you actually want him, " you're so ready for me," he adds tracing little circles between your folds, "but I'll have to wait. I'm a gentleman and ladies come first, always." 

You pant heavily with anticipation when he lowers his head between your thighs. 

You shudder and cry of pleasure when you feel the tip of his tongue taste your clit with tiny circling moves. His finger still rubs against your entrance and pushing in slightly. It makes you even more wet and wanton as he fingers you gently and slowly, preparing you for a more substantial length. 

It seems to continue over and over as the heat grows in your belly and he continues to lap, kiss and caress shamelessly the most intimate part of your body with his mouth. Your hands are fisted in the bed sheets because you have to hold on something not to fall and die of pleasure. Every single move of his lips, tongue or finger, tears a broken sob from your throat and your vocabulary is reduces to moans, whimpers, "oh god"s and "please sir"s.

You can feel your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach but you don't want it to happen, not now, it's too soon, you want more, more of him. He seems to have noticed the change in the way you react because he lifts his head to look at you and licks his lips slowly. He's so incredibly sexy and you want him so much. 

"I'm...I'm close…" you manage to say. 

He puts a tender kiss to the inside of your left thigh and reaches out a hand to caress your stomach with his warm palm. 

"I figured as much, yes. But you're doing so well, baby. Do you want me to continue? I can give it to you now." He asks you softly. 

"No!" you hasten to reply, you're so close, just one more lick and you'll be over. "I want… I rather…," you stutter. You mentally curse yourself, it seems that you're not able to say anything intelligent tonight – your master has such effect on you that you lose the capacity to even speak.

"It's me you want. Is that it babe? You want me to take you?," he purrs. 

"Yes…", you breath, nodding. Hearing him voicing it for you with that low manly voice of his, filled with desire, tenderness and concern, just make you realize it's the thing you actually want the most in this world. You want him to fuck you. 

As he crawls back to your face, you feel the delicate skin of his hard and heavy cock against your thigh and it drives you crazy. 

You throw your arms around your neck and you kiss him deeply. It's hot and possessive; you run your hand in his hair and on his sweaty back. His hips are dancing against yours and you can feel the wetness of his precum on your lower stomach. 

He breaks the kiss and caresses your face. "I better cover myself before it becomes dangerous," he murmurs. 

He sat in the side of the bed and takes a box of condoms from the drawer of his nightstand. 

You kneel behind him and put your arms around his shoulders. "I prefer to take this precaution, I don't want you to worry, I don't want you to think about anything besides pleasure," he explains as he rolls the condom down his erection.

"You don't have to justify anything," you reassure him, "it's more than fine by me." In fact you are glad he respects you so much that you didn't had to ask for it. You kiss the expanse of his neck. With the arousal, his manly and spicy scent is more sweet and inviting than ever. 

He takes a bottle of lube from the drawer and coats his cock with the gel. "I'd probably don't need it, since you're very wet already, but I want that it feels soft as silk for you." You understand that he means by that that he will make sure not to cause you any pain or discomfort. That's actually adorable. 

He turns around and lays you on your back again.

"Do you have a favorite position?" he asks, his body shivering with need and anticipation. The question could be awkward but it's not. He asked it with such care and tenderness in his voice that you cannot be turned off by that. He really wants to please you. 

"I… I…just want to be able to see you," you reply simply, caressing his cheek and shivering as well. 

"Me too," he breathes. 

He places a pillow under your shoulders and head and kneels between your parted legs. He passed a strong arm around the small of your back and lifts your hips up so your back is arched and only your shoulders and head are still resting against the mattress and pillow. 

He pushes inside very slowly, looking anxiously at your face to detect any trace of discomfort. But you know your face expresses nothing else than adoration, desire and pleasure, a lot of pleasure. His member feels huge inside you. You're moaning from the sensation as he penetrates you slowly and deeply.

He allows himself to close his eyes and just savor the sensation.

His breath is hitching as he throws his head back. "God…you are so warm and soft, and so, so perfect around me," he says in a low moan. 

He started with slow thrusts, supporting your body with his arm like you weighted nothing at all. Your thighs are resting on top of his, each side of his hard hips. 

The sensation of fullness -- of being filled by that gorgeous man is so delicious. You two are moaning in sync with every thrust. You grab his bended legs, just above the knees to anchor yourself with him and meet his thrusts. 

You cannot tell how long it lasts; you just know that it becomes more and more intense with every second that passes. His eyes never leaves yours and he keeps telling you how beautiful you are like that, how he likes the way you offer your body to him. 

He runs his free hand on one of your thighs and keeps on torturing you delightfully and deep inside with the lascivious moves of his hips. He looks like a real Norse god, kneeling like that between your legs. Every time he pushes his hips forward, you can see the muscles of his sweaty chest and belly contracting with the effort and it's a sinful vision. You can't take your eyes off the intensity of his dark blue gaze and dilated pupils. His kissable lips are parted in a leisurely panting. 

The hand that caresses your thigh moves down to your intimate parts. He puts his warm palm flat on your lower belly and his thumb start circling softly on your clit.  
You cannot help the growl that suddenly escapes your throat because the double stimulation is sending electric shocks up your spine. His face light up with lust and a little bit of pride when he notices your reaction.

You buck your hips up, meeting each of his thrust, trying to get more friction, more of his cock, more of him. You grab one of his forearms, digging your nails in his flesh. He re angle his pounding you just slightly and you scream as his member rubs a special spot inside you that makes you feel insanely hot in your stomach -- a burning fire that spreads in your legs to the tip of your toes. It's so good and you know you are not going to last any longer. 

"You love that?" he asks you hoarsely.

"Ye-yes!! Please, please. I'm going to.. ..I'm.. please."

"Its' okay, just take it, take what you need baby." 

You throw your head back and cry loudly as your orgasm explodes like fireworks, flooding your body with heat and ecstasy. You never had an orgasm of that intensity.  
He collapses above you but makes sure not to crush you under him by supporting his body weight on his elbows. 

He kisses you deeply and you return the kiss, moaning against his lips because he is still moving inside you, urgent and demanding, and even if you already came, the friction of his pubis on your oversensitive clit is exquisite. 

As he attacks your neck with nips and licks, you run your hands down his back and squeeze his arse cheeks with both hands, marveling how smooth and firm they are, as you feel his muscles contracting. "You're mine!! Not Richard's or Stephen's, or Aidan's, you're mine," he says huskily in your neck and you don't mind that little possessiveness because you like the idea of being his and his alone. 

His body is so close to you it rubs yours with every thrust, his hard chest teasing your sensitive nipples. 

His movements become more frantic as he keeps on taking you deep and nice. 

"Jeezus, you are good, you feel so good baby," he tells you with an expression of pure bliss before squeezing his eyes shut and letting out a low groan from the back of his throat when his own orgasm hits him. 

He kisses your neck, rolls to your side and drags you in his arms. You rest your head in the crook of his shoulder. You are both breathless. He pushes away a couple of hair strands from your sweaty forehead. He is smiling at you tenderly. 

Your master leans forward to put a gentle kiss on one of your eyebrows and rubs the tip of his long nose on your cheek. The sweet gesture makes your heart melt. You kiss his shoulder softly, enjoying the lazy affectionate mood of the sex aftermath. 

As your trembling breathing is slowly calming down, you snuggle closer against his body. You feel sated, satisfied and comfortable. You just want to stay this way forever.  
"You're feeling good?" he asks you softly. 

"I am. It was… perfect. "

"Hummm, It was amazing. I just wish it's the first of many times to come," he says, tracing patterns on your hip with his fingertips. "I cannot wait to get to know you better and discover new ways to satisfy you," he adds running his hand along your arm. 

This thought makes you shiver with anticipation. 

He pecks you quickly on the lips and sat on the edge of the bed in order to get rid of the condom. Then, he crawls back in the bed to shelter you in his arms again. You are sleepy so you close your eyes for a couple minutes, listening to your master's breathing. You lose yourself in your thoughts, thinking about the night's events and about the gorgeous male you just had sex with.

You don't really know how much time had pass but you are pretty sure, by the sound of his slow breathing, that your boss is asleep.

You slip out of his arms and sit on the side of the bed. You turn your head and look at him. He looks so peaceful, his broad chest lifting and falling with his deep breathing. You remind yourself that you are the employee and that what you had to do, your duty to distract him as a PA, is done for the night. In fact, you're in his house and you probably shouldn't be there by now.

You just want one thing—sleep in his arms and don't think about that, but the true nature of your relationship just hit you back. You remember Jess's warnings. You know that if you stay in his bed and cuddle as if you were a couple, the danger of falling in love with him will be more real than ever. And with the sweet tender lovemaking he had just made you experienced, you know how hard it'll be. 

You stand up reluctantly and search on the floor to find your dress when a firm but gentle hand catches you wrist. 

"What do you think you are doing, gorgeous?," a M. O'Gorman with an adorable dishevelled mane asks you with a sleepy voice. He's so cute that you know you are screwed. 

"Going home and let you sleep," you sigh. 

"You don't want to stay?" 

"I don't want to… disturb you." 

"Nonsense," he objects, "Please, stay…I will cook you pancakes tomorrow morning! You can say no to me but you can't say no to pancakes… with strawberries and chocolate," he adds, giving you his most convincing puppy-eyes look. 

"Are you sure it's what you want, sir?"

He takes you by the waist and drags you back in the bed before you can protest. He makes you comfortable in his arms and kisses your forehead. 

 

" 'Dean'…" he answers, pressing his lips on your hairline, "please call me 'Dean'."


	6. Eager Beaver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title for this chapter : How to Cheer Up a Wet Dwarf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is only the fruit of my depraved imagination and has nothing to do with the real actors and their real life. It is entirely fictional.
> 
> warning: sex 
> 
> THANKS to my wonderful new beta-reader, the lovely Katyusha !! <3

Sometimes, you cannot help but think that you two look almost domestic together. Like right now, for example. You're sitting on the couch at your boss's place. You're reading for the second time the schedules to get ready for the next week of shooting. One of your hands is buried in your master's soft hair. Dean is busy editing some of his most recent photos, his laptop placed on his stomach, his head resting on your thigh. Batman is lying on the floor near the couch and you're petting him behind the ears with your bare foot.  
It's a quiet Saturday evening and you both feel content and serene. Dean hums with satisfaction when you start to scratch his scalp lightly massaging his head. 

It's almost magical how the things are simple yet sweet between you two. Sometimes, when you are alone with him, an occasional "sir" or "Mr O'Gorman" slips out of your mouth but you got used to calling him "Dean" sooner than you thought, and now it’s becoming more and more difficult to call him "mister" on set. He calls you "baby" now and then in the most intimate moments but you are not sure you can allow yourself to call him by pet names. 

Three weeks have passed since you had sex together for the first time. It was an amazing night and several others followed. Every single time, your master proved he is a skilled lover. 

He’s used to texting you a few times a week after the day of shooting is over, when he is not too tired, to invite you to his place and cuddle in front of a movie… It usually doesn't take much time before you start to make out on the couch and you usually end up in his bed before the movie is over. 

You're not complaining though. You want it as much as him. He is always sweet, tender and considering, sexy, manly, addictive, eager to please you and satisfy you. He touches you and makes love to you like no man ever did. You don't use the expression "making love" out loud in front of him though. You don't want him to know your feelings… and you're not even sure what you really feel for him. You just know you don’t want to scare him away: you want to enjoy what you have with him as long as possible. You can't get enough of his caresses. If only you could have his hands on you all day long.

Sometimes, when you wait on the set while he shoots a scene, you have the most embarrassing and inappropriate thoughts about your golden warrior. You are glad nobody can read your mind and you wish the other assistants and actors did not see the blush that creeps up on your cheeks when you daydream about his gorgeous cock and how perfectly thick and hot it feels inside you when he penetrates you slowly, his bright blue eyes locked with yours. 

As you keep on petting his hair, you cannot help but find him adorable. You shift on the couch in order to lean down and press a kiss on the tip of his nose. He smiles at you from below and places a hand on the back of your neck to drag you in a proper kiss. His lips and tongue taste fresh and slightly minty. 

"When are they supposed to show up?," he asks you when you break the kiss.

"What time is it?" 

"9:00"

"Well, Jess is supposed to join me here at 9:30, so I guess I’d better get ready," you point out.

He gets his head out of the way so you can stand up. "That's a real shame Aidan and me cannot hang out with you…" he whines.  
You laugh softly, "First of all, it's a girl night out, and you're not a girl… and you know the rules, we aren't supposed to be seen together in public places like this." 

Yeah, that rule sucks, but you are not supposed to go out with your boss to places like bars and clubs where you two could be caught by the nosy paparazzi or strangers. Sometimes you would like to just enjoy a night out with your boss and some friends from work, drinking cocktails with your lover's arm on the back of your chair or his hand on your thigh under the table. But it's not possible and if you want to do your job correctly, you have to follow the rules. 

You lean down and press a kiss on his forehead, "but you will be with Mr Turner at the pub. I'm sure you two will have a lot of fun, you always do" you try to cheer him up. 

"Yeah, yeah... it'll be fun," he agrees, "it's just that…" 

"That what?" 

"That you never know what kind of pervs you can meet in those night clubs; they can slip some shit in the girls' drinks and stuff."  
You smile and kneel in front of the couch. You cup his bearded face in your hands. 

"I'm a big girl, okay? And if it can reassure you, I will never let my drink out of sight and be very careful." 

"I'm sorry… I have no right to talk to you like I'm your father, " he apologizes, shaking his head. 

You lift his chin and put a gentle peck on his lips. "I think your concern is actually really cute, but I'm going to be okay. Don't worry."  
He nods but you can see he is not entirely reassured. You grab your stuff from your bag and go change in the bathroom. While you are putting the last touch on your make-up, you hear the doorbell and Batman's barking. Then, you hear familiar voices filling the house when your boss lets your friends in. 

You blush just slightly at Mr Turner's catcall when you get out of the bathroom. You actually made an effort to dress up and make your hair so you cannot say you're not glad to receive some appreciative comments. 

As usual, Jess looks stunning in her black sleeveless dress. 

Mr Turner passes an arm around your master's shoulder and shakes his head sadly. "You know what, Deano? That's a real shame that we have to go out knowing that the prettiest girls in town will be elsewhere." 

Dean approves with a smile, his gaze lingering on you with regret. 

"Ready to go?" Jess asks you, "I think the cab's already there." 

"Yes!" you answer joyfully as you grab your purse.

Dean kisses your cheek chastely, "you text me if you… need me… need something," he whispers.

You nod quickly. "Have fun boys!" you tell them. 

You two are about to cross the door when Jess turns around to speak to her master, "Oh! By the way, if you choose to be a naughty boy and bring a girl back to your flat, please just text me so I don't turn up there and make it awkward, okay?" 

"No problem," Mr Turner answers casually. 

Oh my God, you think as you head up to the cab, you haven't thought about it. What if your own boss meets a girl and wants to hook up with her? In theory, he is not supposed to… it's against the rules… but what if? The thought makes you definitely uncomfortable. 

………………………………………….

The club is not that crowded for a Saturday night. You and Jess end up drinking casually at a table, chatting about the job and about your boys and laughing a lot because sometimes, they are just two complete dorks. 

You finally choose to ask her the question that’s been burning your lips. "You don't mind if your boss brings a girl home?" 

"I know it's against the rules since we exist precisely to avoid that they sleep with strangers. But I don't want him to feel that I'm like a clingy, controlling girlfriend. I'm not his girlfriend and he is free," she replies, poking at an ice cube in her empty glass with the tip of her stray. 

"You don't feel anything, imagining him with another woman?" you inquire. You certainly don't like the idea of Dean making love to another woman. 

"Well… I sure don't like it a lot….," she muses, "I mean, have you seen how gorgeous he is! It's difficult not to get a little possessive but I manage not to get attached too much. When the shooting is over, I want to be able to see him on a magazine cover and smile, not feel my heart sink. You know what I mean?"

"Yes," you acknowledge. You stare blankly at the bottom of your own glass, lost in thoughts. 

"And you?" She asks suddenly, almost making you jump.

"What about me?"

"How do you feel about your master?" she questions you. 

You avoid her gaze and cross your arms. You don't want to lie to her but you cannot tell her that you know, since the private party, that you are slowly but surely falling for your beautiful warrior prince. "I’m growing… very fond of him, I think. But I try to keep my mind free… without getting attached, like you just said," you reply carefully. And it's the truth, every time you're in his arms you try to convince yourself that it's just a job, just a mutual arrangement, a bit of fun, nothing else. Though, when he kisses you tenderly on the forehead and whispers you to sleep well as you snuggle against his warm body after a long night of pleasure, it's really hard not to feel like you're in love. 

Jess frowns. You're sure she's clever enough to figure out what’s happening in your head and you gulp, feeling guilty. 

"It's okay to get along well with your master. It's just healthy, "she reassures you, "but don't grow too fond of him. I would be sad to see your little heart broken. Remember that it's just temporary. This isn't the real world, just a pleasurable illusion."

"Yeah, it's too good to be true," you sigh. 

"Exactly," she answers. "You want another drink?" she offers, standing up. 

You nod -- you can definitely use a drink right now. She takes her leave toward the bar and manages to be approached by a guy by the time she reaches the counter.

You sigh and shake your head but cannot help smiling, not a chance it happens to you though. Sometimes you feel invisible for the opposite sex… and you wonder what Mr. Delectable O'Gorgeous found in you that made him hire you. But really, right now you don't give a shit if Jess attracts the whole club and you stand alone. You are not here to flirt, if you want cute boys; you already have one at home… two if you count Batman. 

While Jess is using her charms to bewitch a tall muscular tattooed guy, playing with him like a cat with a mouse, you look distractedly at your phone and notice you have a new text. 

-You girls having fun?- D.O'.-

Your heart flutters just a little bit. 

\- Yeah! And you? [you] 

A part of your brain is nervous that he will answer something like "yeah, I just met a gorgeous girl and we clicked, so don't bother to show up at my place." But if he had met a girl he wouldn't be texting you right now, would he? 

-We're great! Though Aidan was supposed to fetch us some pints but I don't think I'll get mine any time soon since he is talking with a girl and forgot I ever existed. –D.O'.- 

You chuckle. 

-Funny you say that cause I'm in the same situation right now. LoL -[you]-

-Really? LOL They are quite the same, aren’t they? A match made in heaven. –D.O'-

-You're not too bored? All alone like that? [You]

Your fingers are itching to write something like "You don't wanna find a girl for yourself?" But you don't, because you don't want to be so obvious. 

-Nope, it's okay, was thinking about you actually. –D.O'-

Your heart makes a leap in your chest. _Oh Deano,_ you think, _you make it really difficult, darling._

-Really? Interesting. [You] You push the "send" button and kick yourself mentally. It's almost like you know that if you jumped off a cliff you would die, but choose to jump anyway. 

But you cannot help but tease him a bit. 

-I was thinking about your body and about that look you cast at me every time I bury myself in your sweet wetness.–D.O'-

You cover your mouth with your hand and feel the heat rushing to your face. You are actually grateful for the dim light in the club so no one can see how hard you're blushing. 

-You have to know that this look drives me crazy. I want more of it, gorgeous.–D.O'-

-Dean O'Gorman !! Are you actually sexting me!!? –[you]

-I kinda am, yes! ;) –D.O'-

Bad, bad boy…, you whisper. He sends you another text before you can reply. 

-How am I doing so far? It's the first time I’ve done that! –D.O'-

You giggle. 

-You made me blush in public so I guess you achieved your goal! [you]

-Glad to hear it! You're adorable when you blush. Is it enough to convince you to come back to my place after your night out so I can have the chance to elicit that look from you once again? –D.O'- 

Yes, of course you want. Just the idea makes your mouth water and you feel all hot inside… but you have to play it cool, detached. You don't want to sound greedy by saying yes right away, even if it's what you want. You don't answer his text and put your phone back in your purse.

Jess appears in front of you and hands you your glass. You thank her with a smile. 

"What about Mr. Muscle ? " You tease her. 

"Pff, a total douchebag, really, " she snorts.

You chuckle and take a sip from your glass. 

"Have you read the boys’ shooting schedule for next week?" She asks you, sitting down in front of you. 

"Yeah"

"So you already know that from Thursday to Saturday they are filming the scene with the thunder storm?"

"Yeah, the 'Kili, grab my hand!' scene. I read the script. It's a really cute but intense scene. The fans will love it for sure," you state.  
"Personally, I'm more concerned about the rain," she replies—but she doesn't look concerned at all. In fact she looks excited.

"Why? They always complain that their costumes are too hot. We have to fan them and make them drink water non-stop. At least they are going to be refreshed. Is it why you seem so happy with yourself?" You raise a brow, silently inviting her to explain what she has in mind. 

"Well. They will be in heavy soaked costumes for three days. The first day, they'll cope just well but by the end of the week, they will be miserable," she says with a manic grin. 

"I can imagine, but why do you seem so pleased with it? You know how Mr Turner can get cranky and irritable when he is exhausted," you remind her. 

"I'm pleased because it will be our task to cheer them up at the end of the week!," she explains, grinning even more. 

"Oh yeah, I haven't thought about it! I should write on my list to buy more dark chocolate. It always helps him smile when I feed him with chocolate," you ponder out loud. 

"I'm not talking about chocolate here, silly," she scolds you gently, "I think about something else you should definitely add to your shopping list, something to warm them up after a whole day of shivering under the cold water."

"Which is?"

"Lingerie, of course! I know a nice boutique where we can go tomorrow."

You think about the sexy text your master’s just sent you. He likes the look in your eyes when he is taking you? You would be happy too to see lust and sparkles in his eyes as you make yourself all sexy just for him. You'll do your job like a real eager beaver.

"Count me in," you beam.

 

_______________

After the cab drops Jess in front of her flat, you give Dean's address to the cabbie. You don't really want to go back to your own apartment, to your cold empty bed when you can snuggle against a nice male body.

You now have your own key to your boss's rented house. As soon as you get in, you take off your high heels clumsily. You are not drunk, just slightly tipsy. The house is silent and dark. The only thing you hear, after you drop your purse on the couch, is the quiet _click clack_ of Batman's claws on the floor as the dog comes to greet you. "Hello cutie," you whisper as you kneel on the floor and hug him, burying your face in his neck's soft fur. You peek at the DVD player's clock. The green phosphorescent numbers indicate it’s 2:30 AM. 

"Where's your daddy? Are you all alone, buddy? " you ask the dog, but Batman just wags his tail at the familiar name Dean often uses to talk to him. 

You head up to the bathroom in order to remove your make up and change your dress and put on one of your t-shirts and some clean panties you left there the day before. 

You push the bedroom's door carefully. You don't know if your boss is in there. What if he is with another girl!? Or what if he comes in later with a girl while you're asleep in his bed?! It would be so awkward. 

You sigh in relief when you turn on the bedside lamp and find him alone, sound asleep on his right side. You cannot help but smile when you realize he fell asleep with his phone in his hand. You take it carefully from his grip and put it on the nightstand without waking him up.

You turn off the light and slip under the covers. It feels like coming home.

His body is warm. You press your front against his. He is sporting the lazy erection of a sleeping man and you sigh contently. The hard length against your lower belly is pleasant and in a weird way, it makes you feel safe . 

Your lover groans and slings an arm around your waist and brings you closer. 

"I'm glad you're here," he mumbles, shifting to press his face in your neck. His breath smells like alcohol. 

"Are you drunk?" You ask him. 

He giggles like a school boy. "Maybe, just a little?" He laughs again in your neck, "but Aidan was much more drunk’!!" 

"I don't think it's a competition. You must be glad you don't have a shooting day tomorrow," you observe," in the morning, I can walk Batman and go buy you a couple of Gatorade's bottles to help you cope with the hangover," you offer. 

"You are perfect! You know that, right?" he mutters in your ear, petting your hair, "and you are gorgeous, and I like you a lot. I told Aidan that I liked you a lot. Do you like me a lot too?" He asks you drunkenly. 

You cannot say if it's the alcohol talking or him. "Were you drunk when you told him that?" you ask carefully. You don't even know if he would remember it in the morning.

"Yeah! I was!" he replies, like it was something he was really proud of, "but that's not the point," he whines, pouting, "you have to answer the question. Do you like me?" 

You sigh and pause for a moment to think about what you will answer. You can feel his quiet and hot breath on your neck. "I like you a lot too Dean, but you should sleep now," you finally mutter in the darkness. Yeah, I like you more than I should, you add in your head.  
He doesn't reply and when you move back a bit to look at his face, you see that he is already asleep. He probably didn't hear your answer at all, you realize with an odd mix of disappointment and relief. 

You push him gently on his back, rest your head on his chest and close your eyes. He is wearing his old blue t-shirt, the one he wears almost all the time, the one you like so much because it matches his blue eyes and because it's so soft. You slip a hand under the shirt and let it rest on his waist. It doesn't take much time before you fall asleep as well. 

\------------------------------------------------

"What lie did you tell him?" Jess asks you when you sit in the passenger seat. 

"A lie? I didn't know I had to lie! I told him I was going shopping with you! Is it a big deal?," you tell her, "I left him in the company of a bottle of painkillers and some blue Gatorade, if you know what I mean?"

She laughs, "I know what you mean, my boss was almost exactly in the same state this morning!" 

"They got wasted again, didn’t they?," Ryan asks from the back seat, "my master never gets drunk unless he is hanging out with your bosses, I think they have a bad influence on him."

Ryan is Adam Brown's PA. He's a really tall young man, at least two heads taller than his boss. He has large shoulders, green eyes, short black hair and a couple of piercings. He looks a bit scary until you get to know him and realize he is a teddy bear with a bad boy's look. Since Ryan is bisexual, he had worked for actors as well as actresses before he started to work on the set of The Hobbit as Mr. Brown's PA. You personally think they are adorable together. You remember them hugging at the private party, in their college boys’ uniforms, Mr Brown almost disappearing in Ryan's big arms. They seem very fond of each other and Ryan is quite protective of his master. 

"Oh, come on, Ry, your boss is not a saint!" Jess tells him. 

"I didn't say that," he protests, "… ah forget it," he snorts. 

"I'm surprised you’re coming with us," you begin, turning around to look at him, "I didn't think Mr. Brown liked lace strings on his man," you tease him. 

He chuckles. "Haha. I don't think he is into that kind of things, but maybe it's worth a try! No, actually, Jess told me they were selling stuff for men too, I'll see if I can get a nice pair of tight boxers. Ad… I mean, Mr Brown, really likes the black ones I already own. "  
"AWWW!!!" Jess and you cheer at the same time, making him blush just slightly. 

"I just have to stop at a cash point before," you tell Jess as she parks the car in a street of Wellington's city center. 

The three of you walk a couple of minutes to find a cash point. You take your money out of the machine and print your receipt.  
"What's the matter?," Ryan asks you when he sees you frowning as you read the numbers indicating the amount of money on your bank account. 

"Nothing," you reply. Actually, you didn't think you were so rich. It's weird. 

You forget about it and shove the piece of paper in your purse and follow your friends to the lingerie boutique. 

\----------------------------------------

"This is fucking troublesome," Dean has cursed his mustache for the third time since the make-up artist put it on him this morning. You and your master are waiting in his trailer for him to be called on the set where his costume will be soaked wet with a hose before the beginning of shooting. It's Saturday morning and your dwarf is a bit grumpy. Fortunately, it's the last day of shooting the rain storm scene. Just as Jess predicted, the actors coped just fine for the first day. Actually, your master had a lot of fun. When the guy who is filming the making-of for the DVD extras approached Dean while you were helping him get out of his wet costume, he turned to the camera and said "I feel like a big kid again!" It didn't fail to make you smile, because "big kid" is a perfect description of your lover and just because you like seeing him all cheerful. You didn't see him on Thursday night because he went out with the other cast members. You spent the evening alone, watching some TV and reading a book in your bed. On Friday, being exhausted from his night out and the long day of shooting, he went to bed as soon as the day was finished. 

"Careful with your prosthetics!," you scold him as he lifts you up and sits you on the tiny kitchen counter. 

"I just want one kiss, just one," purrs your still dry dwarf. He is really close to you and you can feel his hot breath on your face. 

"You cannot live without it," you whisper, running your fingers carefully through the golden wig, even if you know he can't really feel it.  
He smiles at you nonetheless. "I can live without it," he objects, " like, l'll still breathe if I don't get that kiss, but I will be way happier if I get it, and it'll give me energy and I freaking need some right now". 

Under multiple layers of the costume and the fat suit, your hand finds a patch of skin you can caress at the back of his neck. You drag him closer and seal you mouth with him. He hums into the kiss like people do when they take their first sip of coffee in the morning. He cups your face with one of his big dwarf hands. The sensation of the prosthetic hand on your face instead of warm skin is a bit odd but his soft lips make up for the strangeness. The beads of Fili's mustache tickle your chin and you chuckle into the kiss. 

He breaks the kiss and frowns, "I know it's a bit weird and definitely less pleasurable with all that rubber on my face and my hands."  
"I just have to get used to kissing dwarves," you reply, "I already knew you were skilled with swords, my prince, but I didn't know that you were good at kissing." 

He smirks. "I've been trained at various disciplines."

He grazes his fingertips on your cheek, "I shall show you all my abilities later, my lady. We dwarves know how to have fun, but some say I'm not bad at giving pleasure as well. "He winks at you. 

"I'm sure you are not, but I demand proofs," you tease him. 

"I should have expected it, coming from a smart girl like you, you can't be easily fooled.

"Dwarves… are they great lovers?," you continue, caught in this little role play game as you run your hand on his fur-covered chest. You like Fili's costume but you would rather touch his pectorals with nothing on them and know that he feels the caress as much as you do.  
"I can't tell for the others, but it's my honor to be tender with my partners, treat them with consideration and respect and be attentive to satisfy their needs before mine," he whispers. 

"Do you have a lot of partners, Fili? I'm sure all the young dwarfs' dames are all chasing a young, handsome, courageous prince like you. You must be very popular." 

"I'm flattered by so many compliments," he murmurs in a honeyed voice, "but I'm afraid my younger brother is the attractive one. And for my part, there is one particular lady I'm thinking about, right now. I hope she would agree to share my bed tonight…" 

You repress a shiver of need. "I'm sure she will, you just have to ask politely" 

"I want you…" he says, low and husky, and you can see that he slipped out of the role, it's Dean who's talking, not Fili. Oh you wouldn't say no to that. 

"I want you too, Dean," you answer, savoring his name on your tongue. 

He sighs and shakes his head. "This working day will be so long. I'm already tired and we didn't start shooting yet. "

"Hold on," you encourage him, pressing a kiss on his forehead, "I have a surprise for you for the end of the day."

"Ohh yeah, chocolate!," he beams. 

"Am I that obvious? Yeah, chocolate, of course, but not only, there is something else, and if you are a good boy all day long, I'll give it to you tonight," you tell him. You think about the bag you hid under his bed while he was in the make-up department. The bag that contains a very sexy black lace bra with a matching G-string, stockings and a black transparent babydoll to wear atop. He raises a brow with an intrigued smile, "Hmmm, it sounds really interesting."

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. It's the automatic message the assistants receive on their phones when their boss has to be on set in 10 minutes.

"We have to go," you tell him. He takes a deep breath and you look at him, slightly concerned. You can see he is not joking when he says he is already tired. You give him one last hug. "It's okay, you're going to be amazing, as always."

He buries his face in your neck and mumbles something that sounds like a pitiful "thanks". 

____________________________

The joyful mood of Thursday really seems to have disappeared within the cast. It seems that all the actors, who were really glad to be refreshed, are now pouting as they line up to be watered.

After the guy with the hose poured enough water on your master to fill a little pool, Dean casts you the look of a lamb that is going to the slaughter. 

You answer with your best reassuring smile and show him two thumbs up. 

It seems to give him some courage before he keeps his chin up, trying to embody the majesty of the line of Durin. 

You cannot help but feel a swell of pride growing in your chest when Peter Jackson shouts "ACTION" and Dean delivers his line perfectly on the first try , the expression of terror painted on his handsome face at the mere thought of losing his little brother. 

When Peter finally calls the end of the shooting day, the cast heave a collective sigh of relief. As you help Dean out of his costume, there is nobody around but Mr Turner and Jess. 

"I really cannot wait to find out what this surprise of yours is," your boss tells you. 

"Oh, this is a conspiracy," Mr Turner smirks, "I'm sure it's my PA who dragged yours in her plans, and if it is the case, I know what your surprise is." 

"Whaatt?? Whaatt!! Please Aid! Tell me what it is," Dean begs his friend, "I'll pay you a beer, no, two beers if you tell me!!" 

"Sir! Don't," Jess warns her master with a frown. 

Mr Turner leans down to whisper in his friend's ear and Dean's smile widens. 

"Leather? Spandex? Lace then? I love lace," he asks you as you shake your head. 

"Ah, thanks a lot for spoiling my surprise!," you snap at Jess's master. 

"Sorry! I couldn't say no to two beers! And now Deano, you owe me three beers since I risk the wrath of your assistant," he replies. 

Before Dean can protest, Peter appears in the doorframe. "Dean, Aidan, I have to talk to you to see how we will organize the next week of shooting since you know we will have some restrictions to deal with." 

 

_____________________

"It's Saturday night, everybody is gone to their houses or flats," Dean tells you when he finds you in an empty corridor of the K studio after his meeting with Peter, "the trailer park is empty and Batman is at my friend Michelle's place. You know what it means? " 

"I think it means you don't want to go back home now, do you?"

"I can understand if you don't fancy my trailer's tiny bed," he muses, circling your waist in his arms. 

You kiss his cheek lightly and step closer, leaning in the embrace. "I don't really care, as long as I have you." 

"I can live with that. How do you expect me not to be eager when you tell me things like that!"

"It turns you on?"

"Yeah, it does. Right now, I have a hard time thinking about anything other than your body." 

He claims your lips in a long kiss. You put your hand under his t-shirt and touch his cold skin. He shivers. 

"We must get out of here before the security guard catches us kissing like teenagers," he tells you when he breaks the kiss and rubs the tip of his nose on yours in a tender gesture. 

"Hmm, you're right," you acknowledge, "And you definitely need a shower, my dear, you smell like a wet dog." 

He makes an undignified yelp but follows you, laughing softly.

You walk to his trailer, trying to look casual and fighting the urge to kiss again because you know there is a security camera in the trailer park.

When you get inside, he presses you against the wall and kisses you deeply, his eager tongue searching yours. You moan and your breathing accelerates when you feel his erection against your stomach. 

"I said… shower… ," you pant.

"But what about my surprise?," he whines before mouthing slow, sensual kisses in the crook of your neck. 

"You'll get it after your shower," you insist, pushing him away gently. 

"Ok, ok, you won," he conceals, but the arousal you can still hear in his voice tells you he isn't really upset. 

He takes off his shirt and pecks you on the lips. You try not to stare too much as he turns his back on you and leaves, disappearing behind the tiny bathroom's door. He is really sexy with just some old jeans on. 

As soon as you hear him turning the shower spray, you go to the bedroom and fetch the lingerie boutique's bag from under the bed. You know he will probably wash as fast as he can so you hasten to change into your sexy undies. You peek at yourself in the small mirror; you are not bad, not bad at all, actually. You let your hair down and search for the grey bathrobe you know your master keeps somewhere in his trailer. You don't want him to see you, not yet. You have a plan and this plan also involves the free massage oil sample they gave you when you bought the lingerie. You take the black and pink bottle and hide it under the pillow. You sit on the bed, waiting for your master. You have butterflies in your stomach. You really want it to be pleasurable for him. He proved he deserved it, not just because he was brave during three very difficult days of shooting but also because he is always a sweetheart with you. And it is not like it would be a burden to massage that lovely back. 

When he comes out of the shower, he is wearing nothing but a white towel around his hips and your jaw slacks just a tiny bit because, oh my, what a feast for the eyes!

"You took my bathrobe, you little thief," he comments fondly as you stand up and walk toward him. 

He tugs at the knot of the bathrobe belt softly. "Can I see what you hide under?," he asks you as he leans forward to whisper in your ear.  
You kiss the water droplets off his freckled shoulder, taking your time to enjoy his scent and the heat of his skin on your lips. "Not yet, sir," you whisper back when you feel his right hand trying to slip inside the bathrobe. 

You press a slow kiss in his neck. "If mister cares to lie on his stomach." 

He obeys and lets himself fall on the bed, but you know he tries to guess what you are going to do to him. He rests his head on his forearms and waits. 

You sit above him, on his comfortable, round butt. 

He groans, both aroused and annoyed. "It's not fair! I can't see you!" 

You giggle quietly and shush him as you take the oil bottle from under the pillow. You pop it open and the air is filled with a sweet candy scent. Your pour some onto your palm and you rub your hands together to warm it up. 

As soon as your thumbs dig in the knots in his lower back's muscles, he lets out a low moan of relief. 

"Poor baby, you are so tense," you purr, "it's not easy being an actor, is it?"

"I wouldn't say that. Hmmm, yeah, just there," he moans, "I feel like a king, no less. You're taking such good care of me."

You chuckle. 

"Are you sure I didn't die during the shooting because I'm pretty sure I'm in heaven right now," he comments.

You lean down and kiss the back of his head, "Shhh, just relax," you whisper, nuzzling in his wet hair. 

He sighs contently and closes his eyes. You trail kisses and nips on his shoulder blade and on the nape of his neck before resuming your massage. 

You rub his back in firm circles, each side of his spine with your palms and your thumbs, and you can feel his muscles relax. His skin is hot and flushed. His flesh feels good under your oiled hands. He accompanies almost every one of your movements with hums, groans and tiny mewls of relief.

"You are quite vocal when you get a massage," you smirk. 

"I'm… I'm… sorry… it's just, hmmmm, hmm, it feels so good," he moans. 

"I shall continue then," you reply, but he suddenly rolls onto his back and you are suddenly seated directly on a hard manhood, as your master devours you with his big blue eyes. 

"This massage was purely delicious, but it's time I take care of you now," he whispers. "How about you show me what is hidden under that bathrobe," he purrs, undoing the knot on the belt.

You feel those nervous butterflies in your stomach again as you take the bathrobe off your shoulder slowly and you drill your gaze in his. 

He smiles with a little shocked look and he doesn't seem to know where to look. He lifts his hands slowly and puts them on your waist, as he caresses your sides with his thumbs. The words seem stuck in his throat. He gulps. "You… you… are really gorgeous, so sexy. 

Did… you… buy it especially for me?," he asks as if he can't believe it. 

"I did," you confirm, smiling down at him.

"You made a good choice, it suits you. You look so desirable," he says, low and husky, as his hands roam firmly on your flanks, tracing your curves with delight. You feel him shiver with need and his manhood getting even harder between your legs. You moan.

"I would want to have sex with you. Are you consenting?," he asks you.

"I am, of course I am, Dean," you hasten to whisper back.

He drags you down on the mattress and pins you under him as he takes you lips in a rough kiss. Your tongues are dancing around each other, making you moan into his mouth. Then, he covers your throat and your collar with heated kisses. 

He manhandles you on your stomach and lifts up your babydoll in order to kiss a trail along your spine. 

"What are you doing?" you breathe. 

"I am returning the favor," he replies, settling himself above you, bracing your hips with his knees as he starts to massage your back.  
You heave a sigh, both because the sensation of his heavy hands is pleasing but also because you are a bit frustrated. You don't want a massage now; you need him close to you, like very close.

You feel his hand tracing the curves of your hips and your butt. Your breathing accelerates when he takes off your G-string slowly. His fingers tease your naked thighs. You feel so exposed but you don't want it to end. It's torturous but so good. You feel the perfect scratching of his beard on your lower back as he kisses your skin, his fingers making their way up the inside of your thigh. You instincts are stronger than you and you spread your legs and your back is arched to give him access to your intimacy. "You are gorgeous, perfect," he tells you and you bury your face in the pillow and moan when he slips a finger inside you. He explores, taking his time. His other hand is running on your lower back soothingly. 

"Is your ladyship enjoying her massage?," he purrs, kissing you between your shoulder blades.

You cannot give him a coherent answer; your hips are just moving against his hand to try to get more friction. He slips another finger.

You let out a loud moan as you feel the burning of pleasure growing in your stomach. 

"It feels better now, doesn’t it?" he asks you with that manly voice that makes you melt. 

"Yeah…yeah…," you manage to say, "but I need… more… need you…" 

He removes his fingers and you let out an involuntary whimper at the loss. 

Apparently, the towel somehow disappeared because it's a bare and rock hard cock you can feel pressing into the back of your thigh as your master lies on your naked back. He pushes your hair aside and nips at your neck and beside your ear. It makes you lose all inhibitions; your breath is heavy with pleasure. 

"Do you even know how mad you drive me?" he groans between kisses.

"I could say the same about you," you reply, turning your head in an uncomfortable position to take a kiss from him.  
He caresses your cheek, "hold on while I’m putting on my best suit for you," he tells you before leaving the bed to fetch a condom.  
You bury your face in the pillow again. 

"Don't move from where you are, you look amazing, I think I will take you just like that," you hear him muse. A strong arm passes under your belly and lifts your hips up. He shoves two pillows under your pelvis. In that position you are practically on your all four and totally offered to him. 

"You still want it?," he questions you, caressing your back with his warm palms, kneeling behind you. 

"Please…" you beg, desperate to feel him. 

"Please who?"

"Please, sir!"

"No, not 'sir', I prefer when you say my first name." 

He anchors his hand firmly but gently on your hip and penetrates you. 

"DEAN," you cry at the overwhelming sensation of finally having him inside you. 

"I love it even more when you say it like that, babe," he moans. 

The sensation of stretching and fullness is amazing. You buck your hips up, wanton, your body language telling him that your body is ready for a nice coupling. 

Your fists clenched in the bed sheets when he begins to move, slowly at first, but you are both so eager and have contained your need for what seems an eternity. His thrusts accelerate rapidly. It's not rough but it's intense, it's passionate and liberating. You never had sex like that, in that position and the sensation is new and particularly hot since it seems to stimulate your sweet spot. You moan in sync with him, with each of his moves because it's too good. 

One of his hands travels in front of one of your thighs to reach between your legs. His finger finds your clit and rubs it gently. He leans down to kiss your back as he continues his delightful deep pounding. 

It's too much, too scrumptious. You bite down the pillow to muffle the particularly loud cry that escapes your throat. 

"No… please… baby…. don't hold back," he pleads, his voice shaky and rough, "let… let me hear… you." 

The ecstasy is growing in your body like the tides of a raging sea, matching the rhythm of his pelvis on your backside. You don't know how loud you are screaming, you don't hear the sound that escapes your mouth, and you are lost -- undone. You can't see him but he never felt closer to you. You can feel his hot, fast and heavy breath ghosting on your skin as he leans down again to put a shaky kiss on your back. 

His deep thrusts slow down and become more sensual. He takes his sweet time to make you feel his hard length centimeter by centimeter. 

He moans and the hand that was gripping your hip caresses your waist leisurely. His other hand is still teasing you on your now oversensitive clit. "You feel wonderful," he comments in a voice rough with arousal. 

You cannot take that gentle torment any longer. You arch your back and press on his hips to take him deeper, pleading sounds tumbling from your mouth. "Please…. Please… ," you whimper. 

He accelerates his moves and slams rough and deep inside you. "Is that what you need, my greedy beauty?"

You nod and cry from the intensity of the pleasure as he keeps at this fast pace, never ceasing to fondle your clit at the same time. The heat spreads from your stomach through your entire body, your toes curl and all your body tenses. The sensuousness explodes in your stomach as you reach your climax in a series of sharp screams.

"Come here, princess," he orders as he hugs you between his strong arms and lifts you up so you are kneeling on the bed in front of him, your back resting on his torso. He is still inside you and keeps on fucking you, holding you against him and kissing the crook of your shoulder feverishly. 

You moan and rest your head back on his shoulder when he cups your breast through your lace bra. "Do you even know what you do to me?" he asks you, his voice shaky and his breathing laborious. 

You still feel yourself incredibly tight around his thick manhood. You lift a hand up, put your hand in his hair and tug slightly. He buries his face in your neck and groans as his own orgasm hits him violently. 

You both collapse on the bed, still tangled together. He slips out of you slowly and spoons against your back and holds you tight. His breath is moist and warm on the back of your neck. You are exhausted and trembling. 

After a few seconds, he pushes away gently the hair strands that are glued on your sweaty neck and the side of your face. He pops up on an elbow and looks at your face. "Are you okay?" 

You roll on your back, "it was…. really… intense", you reply, still catching your breath.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, looking sheepish, "but I couldn't help, you looked so hot." 

You caress his beautiful but worried face. "What are you apologising for? Taking me to heaven? It was perfect, Dean." 

A dimpled smile illuminates his features. "I think we reached new summits of pleasure, didn’t we? 

"Yes, we did," you acknowledge.

He leaves the bed and leaves you there in order to get rid of the condom. You heave a little sigh at the loss of his body next to you. As soon as he comes back to the bed, you snuggle against his chest and cover his pectorals with kisses. He smells good, a manly mix of soap and sex. He pets your hair and you sigh again, from contentment this time. 

The air in the trailer is chilly. He covers you both with a blanket and you stay there for about half an hour, cuddling. You don't talk but just caress slowly and sleepily, brushing each other's skin with fingertips and lips. It feels so good. You don't want it to stop, never.  
The trailer seems to become cooler and cooler. You snuggle closer to your lover and shiver. 

"Are you cold?" he asks.

You nod, "yeah, a little bit."

"Me too, my trailer's heater is broken. Maybe we should get dressed and go back to my place. The bed is larger and it's warmer," he offers.

"My place is closer," you point out, sitting on the edge of the bed and putting on the top you were wearing today. Your apartment is only a couple minutes on foot from the studios. 

He frowns. "You don't mind if I see where you live and sleep in your bed?"

"No! Why would I?" you question him. 

He puts his jeans back on and a white t-shirt. "Well… I assumed that maybe you would want to keep your work and your private life as two separate things," he muses. 

He considers that he is only work for me and that he is not a part of my private life, you realize, feeling slightly hurt not knowing why . For you, nothing feels more like it is your private life than the moments you spend in his arms. "No, I really don't mind, I swear," you reassure him. 

You choose to take his car to go to your flat, in case you would be seen together in Wellington streets. As soon as he turns the car key in the ignition, a pop song starts. 

You raise a brow, "Is that the radio or your CD?" 

"My CD," he replies casually, "I'm having a Beyonce moment." 

You cannot help but chuckle. 

"Don't laugh!" he scolds you with a smirk. "I genuinely love her music!" 

"Ok, ok, sorry…"

You rest your temple on your fist, your elbow on the passenger's door. You look at him from the corner of your eyes, listening distractedly to the music. 

The flashing lights of the street passing rapidly above you as he drives illuminate his face. His hair is a mess and he seems tired but he is smiling softly and his eyes are sparkling.

_I swore I'd never fall again_  
 _But this don't even feel like falling_  
 _Gravity can't forget_  
 _To pull me back to the ground again_  
 _Feels like I've been awakened_  
 _Every rule I had you breakin'_  
 _The risk that I'm takin'_  
 _I'm never shut you out._

Before the song is over, you already are in front of your flat. As soon as you are in your bedroom, you both shed your clothes and toss it on the floor. You slip under the cover, naked, and curl up in each other's arms. "Sleep sweet, princess," is the last murmur you hear in the darkness before you fall asleep. 

In the morning, he wakes you up with kisses and you have slow and gentle sex, his blue-grey gaze locked with yours.

Afterward, when you have your head rested on his heart, he tells you what yesterday's little meeting with Mr. Turner and Peter was about. "You'll have a surprise holiday since I'm leaving on Tuesday. I have to go back to Auckland for one week to shoot a few scenes for The Almighty Johnsons season two. Peter and Aidan will have to do without me but everything is organized," he explains.  
You feel your heart tighten. You know you will miss him, heaps. You'll miss his easy laugh, his voice and his warm body. But you can't tell him…. because rule number four. 

You share a pleasant breakfast and you let him go after 10AM with a last hug and a long kiss. 

You read a bit of a book, you do some house chores and in the afternoon, you go on the internet in order to pay some bills. That's when you remember when you withdrew money at the cash point and realized you were richer than you thought. You choose to investigate and as you read your bank account data, you see that there were regular deposits of money from an unknown account, only identified by the number 177 890 435 7888. 

You frown. It cannot be your wage, or else it would be identified as Warners-Studios-Production. Who could possibly be the owner of this account? Who could want to give you money? 

You cannot help but have a very bad feeling about it. You check the dates when the money was deposited. Once on Sunday, another time - the Thursday before, once more - the Monday before that. No. It could only be a coincidence. It could only be a coincidence that every time you got this money from the unknown source, it was on the day just after you spent the night with your master. 

You phone the bank and ask to know the identity of the account’s owner but the receptionist is not allowed to give that kind of personal information. 

You pace around your apartment for one hour before you decide that you have no other choice. You take your phone again and send a text to your boss. 

-Mr O'Gorman? -[you]-

He replies seconds later.

-What happened to 'Dean' ? ;) –D.O'-

-Please, be honest with me. –[you]-

-Always. What happened? R u ok ? –D.O'- 

Your hands are trembling when you send your message, you are not sure you want to know the answer to your question.

-Is the 177 890 435 7888 your bank account? –[you]-

You bite your lips, waiting, staring at your phone. Nothing happens for very long minutes, 

when finally

he replies

-Yes –[D.O'] 

"No…" you whisper in disbelief just before the anger kicks in.

\-------------------

6:36PM - Are you upset? :S-[D.O']

7:00PM - ?? - [D.O']

7:27PM -Ok, I take that you are angry since you don't reply - [ D.O']

8:01PM- I think we should talk. -[D.O']

8:12PM - Why don't you come to my place and we talk about it? -[D.O']

9:35PM - I guess you won't come, then. -[D.O']

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave your thoughts! Your comments are what keep me going!
> 
> I'm always grateful (and quite surprised, I must admit) about the great response this story gets. Thanks for that, folks !


	7. The Wrath of the Lioness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You thought you would unleash on him the wrath of the lioness but you are caught in your own game and the lion in front of you is about to roar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little bit of angst and hurt/comfort in that chapter. Enjoy! 
> 
> Thanks to my precious beta and dear friend Katyusha. <3 Lot of love, hon.

Awkward and lonely: that's how you would describe your first hours of work on Monday. 

In fact, you cannot help but admire your boss's aptitude to almost act like nothing happened. He probably doesn't want the others to notice this new distance between you two. He tried to invite you into his trailer in the morning so you could talk before the shooting began and you brushed him off, pretending to have something important to do elsewhere. After you left as fast as you could, he probably understood the not-so-subtle message and stopped trying to establish a contact with you. For your part, you chose to avoid him as much as possible and succeeded so far. The wound is too fresh and you don't want to end up yelling at him in front of the cast and crew. You talk to him only when you have no choice, help him only when he asks for it and answer by "yes sir" and "of course sir" with cold politeness. 

The morning passes with excruciating slowness, you almost count the seconds left before the lunch. But when noon finally arrives, you realize the lunch break won't relieve you from the discomfort you're in. As soon as you enter the catering room with your platter, you see Jess waving at you from your usual table, where you’re used to eating with her, Mr Turner and your boss. But today you don't want to join them. You shake your head and she frowns as you walk past their table. You sit with Ros, Ryan and their respective masters. They greet you as you sit down. Ryan grins at you and you force a smile that probably looks more like a wince. 

"Are you okay, sweetheart? " Ros asks you when she sees that you don't eat but spear your vegetables with your fork like they were goblins to kill. 

"I'm not really hungry, that's all," you reply, your eyes lingering unconsciously elsewhere in the room, on a certain dwarf with a blond wig. Said dwarf raises his gaze from his plate and your eyes meet for a split second, you look away immediately, pretending to be really interested in the gossips Mr Brown is telling the others. You swear you can feel your master's gaze burning on the side of your face but you don't dare look his way again. It's childish and stupid but you feel hurt, angry and sad and you don't know yet how you will manage to handle this. 

You try to laugh at a joke Ryan just made and your giggle must have sounded really fake because Ros looks at you again with concern painted all over her pretty face. 

"What bothers you? Something happened with Mr O'Gorman?," she asks in a whisper. 

"No, no, nothing, don't worry, I'm fine," you lie. The two actors at your table are now looking at you and you don't want them to know. Mr Brown is a real tattletale and Mr Armitage is really protective of your boss and you know that if he figures out something is wrong, he will try to talk about it with Dean and you are not sure you want him to get involved. 

They seem to believe you because they resume their conversation. You peek subtly at your boss' table and see that it's Jess who's helping Dean with his wig and mustache so he can eat properly. It's supposed to be your job and right now, you are not doing your job at all. Actually, today, you are probably the shittiest PA this set has ever seen. "Serves him right," you think with bitterness. 

You eat only a few bits but your stomach is twisted. You stand up and go to the bin to dispose of your leftovers. You put your dirty dishes on a tray when suddenly you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You unlock it and without much surprise, you see that you have a new text from your master. 

-I'm leaving for Auckland tomorrow morning. We should talk before I go.-D.O.-

You stare at your phone for a moment, pondering if you would reply or not. Last night you ignored all his texts and didn't reply to any of them since you discovered he was paying to sleep with you. 

You know he is watching you from the other side of the room, waiting for you to reply but you won't give him this pleasure. You are about to put the phone back in your pocket when he sends you another. 

-I know you are mad at me, but this silence treatment is ridiculous. Let's sort this out like adults.-D.O'-

The idea of flipping him the bird across the room as a reply crosses your mind for a second but you are not that mean and decide against it. You are hurt, you are pissed off, yes, but you don't hate him… you can't get yourself to hate him, and somehow it's even more frustrating. 

Instead of giving him the finger, you type a quick reply.

-I wish you a lot of fun in Auckland. –[you]- You cannot actually tell if you intended to be sarcastic or not. 

It takes only a few seconds before he answers. 

-Come on. I don't want to leave on that note. :( –D.O'-

This time you don't reply and leave the room. You hide in the ladies restrooms like a coward until the break is over. When it's time to go back to work, you sigh and head up to the studio, wondering if your master told Jess and Mr Turner know what is going on between you two. 

Hard to tell; Jess casts you a concerned look as soon as you join her behind the cameras but makes no comment. You ignore her and focus your attention on the actors. 

They are filming the scene in the cave, just before the floor collapses and they fall into the goblin town. The actors won't do that last part though; it's the stunt guys' job. Even if Dean and Mr Turner always want to try to do their own stunts and it doesn't always end well.  
In that scene, Kili and Fili have nothing to do but lie down and pretend to sleep. The camera passes above the dwarves' sleeping forms and stops on the princes for a few seconds. 

"And reset!" Peter commands. The camera is still on the dwarf princes as Peter gives directions to your boss. "Dean, can you just show us that you care for Fili… er.. I mean, Kili. We must feel that you were afraid to lose your brother during the storm battle and that you still are, even asleep. I don't feel it at all right now."

"Ah… yeah… sorry," Dean mutters and he tries to lie in another position, closer to Kili. They shoot the sequence again.

"Reset ! Nope Dean! That doesn't work!," Peter says with a little impatience showing in his voice as your master shrugs and huffs, clearly struggling with the directions and getting irritated. 

You look at your boss anxiously on the little screen of the monitor. It's not like him to act this way. Something obviously troubles him. You cannot help but feel just a tiny wee bit satisfied. But you don't want him to be scolded by the big boss. "Come on…" you whisper to encourage him by telepathy. 

You see Mr Turner turn to his side and whisper something to his cast mate. You can always count on him to save the day. The blond dwarf nods and turns on his side too, facing the brunet one. Kili grabs his big brother's left arm like he is clinging to him and Fili puts his right hand on Kili's forearm in a gentle and protective gesture that seems to mean "I know you are afraid but I'm here." 

"Aww," coos Mercedes, Mr Hunter's PA, from behind your shoulder as she looks at the brothers on the monitor as well. You cannot help but turn your head to smile at her. They are undoubtedly adorable and you feel your heart tighten a bit when you remember that the blond one is no longer yours… but has he ever been? He has betrayed your trust and it's painful. 

The two actors smile at each other before closing their eyes, holding each other's arms and waiting for the camera to roll again.  
"Yeah, that's more like it!," Peter approves, "and ACTION!"

You wonder if they will keep this sequence in the movie. They should since it's showing the soft side of the warrior princes and their close brotherly relationship. You may be angry but you still think your boss is a good actor who deserves a lot of screen time. You know you are biased; every P.A. wants their master to be the star of the movie. But you have nothing to say in the matter. You are condemned to watch from afar. You are a servant, nothing more. 

"Do you need me for something or can I leave?," you ask your boss as soon as Peter calls the end of the shooting day. You just want one thing, return home to hide under a comforter and be miserable.

He hums and hesitates as you follow him to the costume department. He seems to search for something to ask for, as he gets out of his costume and fat suit. 

"I forgot to collect my script for the next shooting weeks," he says. You roll your eyes, annoyed. He casts you one of his best puppy looks as he strips until he is bare-chested with only some jogging pants on. "I want to learn my lines while I'm away," he adds, prying at you with his impossibly turquoise eyes.

You gulp. He looks freaking hot and you hate it. "Okay," you answer blankly and don’t let anything show. Really. Just for that they should give you an Oscar. 

"Would you be kind enough to bring it to my trailer?," he pleads you. 

He comes closer to you with a soft look but you step back. If he touches you, you know you will melt and he will transform you into putty in his tiny hands. You want to stay in control of the situation even though you are confused as hell. Right now you don't know if you want to kiss him or slap him, or maybe kiss him and then slap him, or slap him and after that, kiss the air out of him. You nod quickly, turn around and leave to the scripts and scenario's department before you could do either of the things. 

You know what he wants to do by asking you to bring him his script. He wants to have an occasion to have you alone so he can have this discussion with you. You surely don't want to have it now. It may be immature but you feel that you're not ready to face the situation. Not now. You are still too emotional. You don't want to give him the opportunity to coax you with his ridiculous manly good looks. 

You fetch the script and ten minutes later you're almost in front of your boss' trailer when you trip on your own feet and the paper sheets scatter everywhere on the asphalt. The wind blows the sheets away and you curse, trying to catch them.

The door of the nearest trailer opens. "You okay? You need help?" M. Turner's voice asks. 

He doesn't wait for an answer and steps out of his trailer and helps you collect the pages. You are so useless and clumsy, this is all so stupid. There is a painful lump forming in your throat. You feel drained and your nerves are on edge.

Mr Turner manages to catch the pages that have flown under his trailer. When he gives you back your pile of paper, he notices the tears misting your eyes. 

His gaze is soft as he puts a hand on your shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?" 

"No," you reply in a quiet sob. Something breaks inside you and the walls of anger you’ve been building all day long just tumble down and after the barrage breaks, a wave of sadness washes over you.

He drags you in a bear hug. "There, there darling," he murmurs, holding you tight on his broad chest. You cannot help but lean into the embrace and close your eyes. It feels so good to be held like that. You missed it. Usually, you would search for comfort in Dean's arms. Your boss is meant to be hugged; he probably has teddy bear's genes. But for obvious reasons, it's not an option anymore. You feel your throat constricting even more. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks you softly, resting his chin on the top of your head as a few strands of Kili's wig fall on your face. 

You don't reply but hide your face in the fabric of his costume. Taking a deep breath and inhaling his soothing virile scent.

"It's about Dean, isn't it? I saw you were avoiding each other today and I noticed the look on his face when he thinks nobody is watching."

The mention of your boss' name makes your heart tighten and you suppress a sob by clenching your teeth.

"Once, he told me he liked you a lot, and I'm sure it's still true," Mr Turner continues. 

"He was drunk when he said that," you snort. 

"It still counts," he objects, "people don't lie when they are drunk, they say what they normally don't dare to say."

You shake your head, "It's… complicated." 

"I can try to talk to him for you if you want…" he offers.

"We are not in elementary school, " you protest. 

He lifts your chin up with a gentle hand and you look him in the eye. He tilts his head to the side and smiles at you. "I'm sure you will sort this out. You’d better. I really hate to see you both so miserable." 

"Thanks Aidan," you whisper, calling him by his first name for the first time. He doesn't seem to mind at all and hugs you tighter. You throw your arms around his neck and hug him back.

"You're welcome," he says back, pressing his cheek to your temple. 

"Oh Aidan, always the ladies' man, aren't you?" A familiar voice says from behind you.

"Dean…", you breathe, breaking the embrace and stepping away from Mr Turner quickly. 

"Don't say, 'it's not what it looks like' or I'll laugh," your boss sneers, crossing his arms and leaning on the nearest trailer. 

You and your boss stare at each other for a moment. You walk toward him. "I'll spare you the laughter, because I'm out of here," you snap, dropping the script in his hands not so gently. The pages are all in the wrong order but you don't give a damn. 

"What the hell is wrong with you, for god's sake?," the tall brunet asks his friend. 

"I'm sorry mate, don't mind me, it's just not a good day," your boss sighs as you leave. 

"Maybe I'm not the one you should be apologizing to, Deano" you hear Mr Turner pointing out as you walk away through the trailer park.

You stick to the plan and as soon as you are in your flat, you hide under a blanket with a mug of hot chocolate and watch one of your favorite TV shows. 

The only problem is that every time a male character appears on the screen, your thoughts go back to your boss. You growl with frustration. He treated you like a vulgar prostitute, he is not worth thinking of him. You concentrate again on the show, trying your best to erase blue eyes, ginger-blond hair, dimples and cute nose from your mind. As soon as the end credits begin, you hasten to start another episode, then another -- anything that would keep you from thinking about your former lover and sinking in angst again.  
After you finished watching six episodes in a row, you realize that you are now on holiday while all your friends in Wellington are still working all week. You don't have anywhere to go or anyone to hang out with for the next four days… all you have to do is mop around in your little apartment. "Well, thanks for the lovely holidays, Mr O'Gorman!" If you had known about it sooner, you could have made plans. 

You take a look at your phone, you have no new texts, why would you? Somehow you want him to send you something, so you would be able to be a brat and not reply. But he doesn't send you any. 

It's past midnight so you go to bed and fall asleep surprisingly quickly. 

You are in a cave, or is it the movie set? You don't know. You are surrounded by stone walls. You should be panicking but instead of trying to find an exit, you just stay there and wait for something to happen. 

You hear someone clearing their throat behind you. You know this voice but when you turn around, it's not Dean you see but Fili. He nods as if answering your unspoken question. 

"Where is Kili?" Is the first question you ask, because there is no Fili without Kili. 

"He is not here. Why are you asking? You care for him?," Fili asks, curious. 

He walks toward you. Maybe you should be afraid of the predatory glow in his eyes but you are not. You stand your ground and stare at him as he comes closer, majestic, strong and beautiful.

"Kili is only my friend," you state. 

Fili is now really close to you; his big dwarf hands press on your lower back and bring you even closer. The sensation of Fili's large hands is really different to the familiar one of Dean's small hands. You gasp at the contact but you don't try to struggle. On the contrary, all your being is filled with heat but with also this vague feeling of guilt that creeps in the back of your mind.

"Forget Dean, he is just a macho, " the dwarf prince whispers, his tempting lips inches apart from yours. 

You shiver. It would be so easy to let it go. 

Suddenly, you blink and it's not Fili but Kili who holds you possessively against him.

"My brother is telling the truth," Kili purrs, "Dean doesn't deserve you. Let me make you forget him."  
You push him away. 

"I can't do that!," you protest with vigor. 

"Why?" the brunet prince asks.

You want to scream "Because I love him!" but the words stay stuck in your throat and all you can produce is a weak hiccup.

Kili chuckles and tilt his head to the right side. "See? No reasons for you to cling to him like you do."

 

You wake up and blink a couple of times in the darkness of your room. You shiver and wrap the covers tighter around your shoulders. Well, if dreams are supposed to help you understand what's going on in your subconscious, this one just confuses you more. You take a look at your alarm clock, it's 5:14 AM. Your body is used to waking up early in the morning, but you don't have to go to the set today. You should be happy, really. But honestly, even the prospect of being allowed to stay in bed all day doesn't really succeed to cheer you up. You groan, grab your pillow and shove it on your head. 

You sleep again until 11AM, no weird dreams this time, thank god. 

The rest of the week passes slowly, too slowly. You are sure that at some point you will die out of boredom. On the first day, you look at your phone almost every thirty minutes or so, waiting, hoping for something, anything: news, apologies, a love declaration maybe. Without surprise, nothing comes. At some point on Thursday you decide that you have to get yourself together and you go outside and take a walk in the park, listening to music. If only your boss had left you Batman to keep you company, you could have walked him, talked to him. You miss that furry ball of joy with long legs. You are walking in Miramar Park, enjoying the sunny and warm weather and trying to clear your mind. You almost succeed when you spot a man wearing a white t-shirt, his strawberry blond hair short and tousled. He is seated on a park bench and looks down at his phone in his lap. Your heart makes a leap in your chest and you freeze. He raises his head and smiles at you. You begin to breathe again; it's not your master. You smile back at the stranger and leave quickly. This man must think you are a freak since you were staring at him with wide eyes. It's all so pathetic; you start to have visions, now. You don't want to become obsessed. No, you are not obsessed… it's just that you can't get him out of your head.

He will be back in only four days and you will have no choice but to face him—to face your own anger and the unresolved feelings you have for him. Only four little days. You can't wait for the week-end to be able to spend some time with your friends and just think of something else.

On Friday, you get a phone call from a woman who wants to do an interview with your boss about his photography.

"I've been trying to talk to Mr O'Gorman for a couple of days, I have his number here in Wellington but I'm not able to reach him, "she tells you," I phoned the studios where he is filming and they gave me your number. You are his assistant, right?" 

" Yes, it's me," you confirm, even though considering the way you acted with him at work on Monday, you are not sure you will keep your job for long. 

"I would be glad if you could give him my number so he can call me back when he has a minute," she asks politely. 

"Sure, no problem," you answer with an enthusiastic voice, "I'll transmit the message to Mr O'Gorman as soon as possible." Apparently, working with actors really helped you to be a good liar because you successfully acted like it would be a joy to perform that task. In fact, the idea of having to phone your boss right now fills you with a disagreeable feeling. The last time you talked to him, you shoved a pile of paper in his hands with murderous eyes; you are probably the last person he wants to talk to. 

But it's a great opportunity for your boss. If he wants his art to be known and maybe even see it exposed in a gallery, it can give him great publicity and get galleries to be interested in his work. You may be mad at him; you are certainly not going to spoil his career by not telling him. You are not a jerk. 

You find milk chocolate in your pantry. You are not deep enough in angst to comfort eat yet but you want to find courage. You let a little square of chocolate melt on your tongue as you lean back against the kitchen counter and glare at your phone as if it were its fault that you have to make this call. When the chocolate is completely melted and swallowed, you lick you lips, take a deep breath and press your screen on - D.O'Gorman-. 

It's 2PM, he is probably in the middle of the shooting and would have turned off his phone, so you'll just have to leave a message and that's it, job done. You pray to all the living saints that you will hear: "Hi there! If you wanted to call Dean O'Gorman, congratulations, you have found me. I can't talk to you right now, leave me a message and I'll call you back as soon as possible. And if you want to talk to Batman, just bark after the beep." 

But apparently, all the living saints are not on your side right now because it's not his recorded message you hear but him picking up and his voice saying your name with an unsure tone. 

You gulp. Suddenly you completely forget why you were calling.

"Er…. hi… errrr…I'm…. it's me."

"Hmm yeah, I figured it out when I saw your name on my phone," he answers quietly. You are not sure if he is joking or if he is irritated, his voice is scarily neutral. 

There is an awkward silence. He is waiting for you to talk. You can hear him breathe through the phone. In a weird way you would want to listen to his breathing longer, like he was sleeping by your side. At the same time you just want this phone call to end as soon as possible. 

"Am I bothering you? Are you in the middle of shooting? "

"We are on a forced break; there is a problem with the steadicam."

"Oh.. ok…," you mutter.

"How are you? What can I do for you?," he asks. 

You somehow regain consciousness. "A certain Mrs. Taylor has called me today; she works for Wellington's Art Magazine. She wants to do an interview with you about your photography. 

"Oh wow! But how did she hear about my photography?" You can almost hear him frowning. 

"I have no idea. She gave me her number so you can call her back." 

"It's only my assistant, you egg," he says suddenly. 

"What?," you ask, puzzled. 

"Oh nothing, just a nosy little prick who can't mind his own business," he replies but you hear the smile in his voice. 

"Is she cute?" asks another voice that you can hear through the phone. You know you have heard this voice before, probably coming from the speakers of your television. It's probably Emmett Skilton's even if you can't be sure. 

"So, you said she gave you her number," your boss hastens to ask you. Clearly, he doesn't want to answer his cast mate's question.  
"I have it here, if you want to write it down." 

"Yeah, just give me a second," you hear some ruffling on the line, he is probably searching for a pen or something. "Okay, I'm listening."  
You tell him the number. He thanks you; and after a quick "see you on Monday" you barely have the time to answer before he hangs up and you are left there, staring at nothingness with the phone still against your ear. 

"Yeah, that's it," you grumble, turning you phone off, "I'm JUST your assistant." 

You can't pinpoint exactly why but this conversation left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

On Saturday morning, you are busy comfort eating and listening to depressing love songs… exactly like a heartbroken girl, even if you tell yourself constantly that it's not what you are. 

Your phone rings and you literally throw yourself at it, hoping it's one of your friends who wants to hang out because you really need to leave this flat before you arse takes roots on your couch like a cactus.

You smile with relief when you see it's Jess. "Hello?"

"Okay big girl, stop listening to Adele and put your ice cream back in your freezer, we are going to the beach."  
Your eyes widen as you look down at your bowl of vanilla ice cream. "How do you ..?" you begin but she cuts you. 

"It's a gift."

"No, but seriously? Did you put hidden cameras in my flat or what?" 

"Nope, I just used my great deducing skills. Since you are so smitten with your sexy Mr O'Gorman, I thought that you must be mopping around, waiting for him to return." 

"I'm not mopping, I wasn't listening to Adele's songs and I'm definitely not 'smitten'," you groan, spitting out the last word. 

"Anyway, you'll mop another day because you’re coming with us. Get ready, we will pick you up in ten," she orders.

" We?"

"Ros and me… and yeah Ryan too, it was supposed to be a girl thing but I figured that Ryan counted as a girl." 

"I heard you, Summers!," you hear Ryan's voice saying in the background.

She chuckles. "Okay, so, be ready !," she tells you before hanging up. 

It's a really windy day and not that warm either. You rushed out of your flat and didn't really think about taking a sweater with you so you end up wearing Ryan's jacket. He has been a real sweetheart and has lent it to you but the sleeves are so long you had to rolls them four times before they fitted. 

You are walking on the esplanade along the seaside in the little town of Lower Hutt, North-East of Wellington's bay. You enjoy being outside and feeling the salty ocean breeze on your face and in your hair. 

You are at ease enough to ask the question that obsessed you for the last days. You don't want your friends to know exactly what happened between you and your boss but you still want to know their opinion, since they are all more experienced as assistants than you. 

"Hey guys, there is a thing I'm curious about. It's about the job."

"Of course, go ahead," Ros encourages you. 

"You bosses… did they ever give you extra money? Did they ever pay you in addition to your regular wage?" you ask tentatively. 

"You mean pay for sexual services?," Jess asks you. 

"Yeah… kind of." 

"Well, that would not be a nice thing to do, we are not whores," she muses, "though Mr Turner already paid me fifty bucks for a lap dance." 

"What? Really?," Ros almost yells, in shock. 

"That's not a big deal; we were doing some sexy role play," she explains. "That's the only reason why there was cash involved. I wouldn't have accepted it if it hadn’t been a part of the game. He really likes when I dance around him and when I sit on his lap and I touch his…"  
"SHHHHHH!!! Too much information, Jess !!!," Ros whines. As usual, it just makes Jess laugh. 

Ryan pats Ros' shoulder with compassion, "you should know by now that there is no such thing as 'too much information' for Jessica Summers." 

Jess snorts but smiles nonetheless. 

"And you, Ryan?," you question your tall friend. 

He plays with his eyebrow piercing and rubs the back of his neck, hesitating: "Sometimes, when I buy … little things, Mr Brown insists on repaying me. But it's not really like paying an extra wage."

"Little things like what?," Jessica teases him, clearly trying to embarrass him. 

He blushes, "things like… you know…toys." He whispers the last word, in an attempt not to be heard but your minx of a brunette friend has keen ears. 

"Oh ! Toys !! Interesting, I didn't know Mr Brown was fond of those things. He looks so innocent and pure," she beams.  
Ryan's face turns beet red. "Appearances can be deceiving, he is a real firecracker in bed," he states, blushing even more, "but don't repeat it, okay?" 

You all swear you won't say anything about that to anybody. It's his private life after all. 

"And you?," you ask Ros, turning around to look at the red haired scot girl.

"Mr Armitage never gave me money directly. He is too gentlemanly for that. But he told me that he would like to take holidays in Fiji islands after the first block, and he said he wanted me to go with him and that he would pay for everything… but I don't know if I will say yes. I'm not even sure if I'm allowed to do that." 

The conversation drifts to the matter of Mr Armitage's trip to Fiji and to a debate on whether Ros should accept his proposition or not.  
Anyway, you roughly got the answers you wanted to obtain to make an opinion for yourself. You realize that if you had told your friends what your boss did; they would have probably been rightly scandalized. 

On Sunday evening, things take an unsuspected turn. You’ve just finished washing your dishes after your supper when you hear knocks on the door. You dry your hands on a towel, wondering who it could be. It can't be Dean, you ponder, why would he come here? It will be a few more hours before he’s supposed to come back from Auckland. 

When you open your door it's the curly haired Irishman you find on your doorstep, leaning casually on your door frame with two bottles of rosé wine in his hands.

"I come in peace", he announces. 

You raise a brow, "I didn't know we were at war". You are quite surprised to see him there. 

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah, of course." You step back and let him in.

"I know we are not at war. But after what happened the other day, I thought that maybe you would be upset, and I wanted to see how you were doing. You seemed so down. I didn't tell Jess, by the way." 

"After what happened the other day?"

"Yeah," he sighs, sheepish, "I shouldn't have hugged you. It was… inappropriate. "

"You say that because of how Dean reacted? We did nothing wrong. He has nothing to say about who I hug. He doesn't own me," you groan as you fetch two cups for the wine. 

"He hurt you very much, did he?," he asks, his hazel eyes soft and compassionate. 

"So you know what he did…," you sigh, searching in a drawer for a corkscrew. You find the tool and hand it to him. 

"No, I didn't question him since you told me we were not in elementary school," he states, playing distractedly with the metallic wrap around the neck of the bottle, " See? I've been a very obedient boy." 

You smirk. "'Obedient' is not the first quality that comes to mind when it comes to describing you." 

"Oh really? I'm deeply wounded!", he laughs, opening the bottle. You cannot help but join him in laughter.

He tilts his head to the right side and gives you one of his most infectious grins. "It's great to see you smile."

You blush just slightly and you avoid his gaze. 

"You don't have to talk about what happened between you and him if you don't wanna," he reassures you, "I'm not here to lecture you." He pours the wine in the cups and hands you your own. "Sometimes, wine is the best therapist," he adds, winking at you. "To the sometime stupidly complicated relationships between men and women," he toasts, raising his glass solemnly.

"Hell yeah! Cheers!" you agree and offer him a shy smile before taking a tiny sip of your wine. 

He drinks from his own cup, observing you from under his long dark lashes. He licks his lips and waits for you to talk… or not.  
"He paid me," you murmur. You let it fall from your lips as if you wanted that sentence to fall on the ground so you could crush it under your foot. 

"What?" he breathes. 

You sigh and dare to look at him. "He paid me extra wages, he transferred money into my bank account for every time we … we… spent a night together." As you explain, you feel the hurt coming back in full force, as if it has just happened.

"Okay…er…that's rather… indelicate. But why? Why did he do that?" Mr Turner asks, frowning so hard his eyebrows are almost touching. 

"I don't know."

"He didn't tell you?"

"To be honest, I didn't let him explain. I was too upset to talk to him."

He shakes his head in disbelief, "I don't understand. That's not like Deano at all. He is not perfect but it's really not like him to be that rude. He respects you. I know he does. There must be an explanation, somehow." 

"I don't know, and if there is one, I'm not sure I want to hear it," you hiss. 

"Your anger is understandable," he reckons, "but you should let him explain."

"Maybe… I'll see…," you ponder. 

"Okay, enough with angst," he decides, taking your cup from your hand and heading to the small living room, "come sit with me, let's watch some crap TV, it's 8:30, I think Jersey Shore is on." 

You cock a brow but follow him nonetheless, "You want to watch Jersey Shore? Are you for real?" 

He laughs. "Jess initiated me to that horrible reality show, it's awful but she is right, there is nothing like watching American douchebags getting drunk to wash a brain clean from all deep thoughts."

Three hours and two shared bottles of wine later, you are really tipsy, on the verge of drunkenness. Maybe your current emotional state helped you get there. The current tv show playing in the background is long forgotten as you and Mr Turner talk about nothing and everything, music, movies, your families. It's nice, simple and casual. It's pleasant and you are enjoying yourself probably for the first time for days. 

It's all fun and games until he mentions Dean's name in the middle of a sentence. He falls silent when he sees your smile fall and a tear roll down your cheek. You mentally curse the wine that breaks your armor and makes you so vulnerable. 

"Oh shit, I'm sorry," he whispers, ashamed. 

You lift your head and look him in the eye, your vision is all blurry by the unshed tears. "You know what hurts the most?" you ask him in a shaky breath. 

"No…" he replies softly. 

"It's that I'm freaking in love with that wanker!," you let out in a pitiful sob. You said it, it's too late, there is no way back. You shouldn't have, you know you'll regret it, but alcohol made you lose your inhibitions, at least some of them. 

"I'm sorry," he repeats, dragging you into a hug. 

"Sorry for what? That I fell for the wrong guy, for a guy who treats me like a prostitute? It's not your fault," you mumble into the fabric of his plaid shirt. 

"I don't know, I don't know what else to say other than I'm sorry," he says, rubbing your back in a genuine attempt to comfort you. "Did you tell him that you were in love with him?," he asks, as gently as possible. 

You turn your head in order to look at him from below, your head still resting lazily on his shoulder, " I'm his assistant, I can't see that happen and end well, can you?," you sulk. 

He hums, lost in thoughts, and rests his rough stubbled chin on your temple.

"You are the only one to know," you whisper, "don't tell anybody, please." 

"Cross my heart and hope to die," he whispers back. 

You close your eyes and shed a couple more tears that make a wet spot on his shirt as he just rocks you in his arms. You feel drained, exhausted. 

Next thing you know, you open your eyes, it's the morning and you are in your bed. You blink and sit up, trying to recollect what happened the night before. You look at the clock, it's 5:00 AM. The images flood back into your mind, the crappy tv show, the wine, Aidan. 

Oh my god! Mr Turner !!! 

You get off your bed as fast as you can but not without feeling a light headache and a bit nauseous. You notice that you are still wearing the clothes you were wearing the day before. 

"Morning darlin'!," the Irishman greets you as soon as you get out of your room. He runs a hand through his curly hair and smiles at you sleepily. 

"You are still here?" you ask him, slightly confused. 

"Yeah, I couldn't drive back home in that state. I borrowed your couch." 

"Oh, yeah, sure, no problem... but, how did I end up in my bed?" you ask tentatively. 

"You kinda passed out on me," he smirks, "I carried you to your bed like the gentleman I am."

"Thanks. It's so embarrassing. I hope I didn't drool on you or something." 

He laughs, "just a little bit but you were rather cute in fact." 

You got drunk, fell asleep and drooled on Aidan Turner… literally. You should add that to your resumé. You blush from hair to toes. It makes him laugh even louder but his brown eyes are warm. 

"We should get prepared to go to work," he points out.

"Oh my god! Yes!" You realize it's today that you have to go back to work; it's today that Dean comes back too. In fact he must have come back last night.

You go to your room to change your clothes and after that, you offer Mr Turner to cook him something for breakfast but he chooses the cereals. You chat as he eats, leaning against the kitchen counter.

You two jump and almost have a heart attack when you hear knocks on the door.

You cast Mr Turner a confused look and he shrugs.

You walk to the door, wondering who could pay you a visit on a Monday morning at 5:30 AM. 

You open the door and your heart drops to your knees like a stone in a pond. 

"Good morning," your boss stutters, apparently making an effort to stand still and hold your gaze. 

You notice two things. First of all, he had let a mustache grow with his beard and it looks definitely better. He wears black jeans, a white shirt and a black jacket. He is effortlessly handsome, as always. The second thing you notice is his tired eyes. He is holding something in his hand, a little box with a bow on it but you don't really pay attention to that detail. You just wonder what he does there on your door step. Definitely, there've been plenty of unexpected visits lately.

"I know I should have texted you, or called you," he begins, "but I was wondering if you would want a lift to go to work. So maybe we can talk. But you don't have to say yes, I would understand if…" Suddenly, the words cut in his throat. His eyes widen and the footsteps on the floor behind you is the telltale sign that Aidan has joined you in the hall and that Dean has noticed his presence in your apartment. Why would he hide, anyway? That's not like you and him had anything to be ashamed of. But Dean is not aware of that fact.

"Hey Deano! You are back! That's nice to see you!," the Irishman beams. 

Your heartbeat accelerates as you look back to Dean's face and see that he is adding one plus one in his mind and getting to the wrong conclusions. "I'm clearly interrupting something, aren’t I?" he says coldly.

All you manage to let out as a reply is a kind of squeaky hiss that doesn't mean anything. 

"Oh no!," Aidan hastens to rectify when he sees the look on his friend's face, "It's not what it looks like!" 

And that was probably not the best thing to say because your master lets out a humorless little chuckle. He lifts his arms and shows you his palms, "it's okay, I understand, you guys do whatever you want, I'm not bothering you any longer," his arms fall to his sides and he leaves right away. "Fuck!" you hear him curse as he goes down the stairs of your apartment block. 

You close the door and shoot a glance to the Irishman, "So, what do we do now?"

Mr. Turner heads up to your kitchen. "Let me talk to him," he says, washing his bowl in your sink. 

"What will you tell him?" 

"To calm his tits, probably," he sighs, grabbing his jacket and wallet. 

You get into his car and he drives the small distance to get to the studios in silence. 

When Mr Turner parks the car in the parking lot, you see that your boss is already there, talking to Mr Brophy, Mr Kircher and Mr McKellan. When Mr O'Gorman sees you with Aidan, he looks away but you can see the hurt he tries to hide.

"Oh god…," you whisper. 

"That's okay," Mr Turner reassures you as he turns the motor off, "don't worry and let me handle it."

You nod, get out of the car and follow him to the costume department. 

As soon as you enter, you are informed that you won't be on the set with the actors today because all the assistants have a meeting to prepare you for the work you'll have to do when your bosses are shooting outside, on the locations, in a couple months. You head up to your meeting. Actually, you feel relieved that you won't have to spend the day with your master. You know it's inevitable though, at some point you'll have to grow some balls and speak to him, face to face. 

That’s why when at the end of the day you receive the text saying:-I cannot stand it anymore. My place, at 7, please.-D.O'-, you answer: - Yes, I'll be there- 

Because no, you can't stand it either.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

When he opens the door, he seems to anticipate this conversation and know it will not be pleasant”

You step into the house and feel awkward. 

If this scene had happened just nine days ago, before all of this shit, you would probably have put your arms around his neck, your lips begging for a gentle welcome kiss. You would have basked in his warmth, tasted his soft lips. You would have collected the spicy scent of his perfume directly from his skin by rubbing the tip of your nose on his neck. Now you can just smell the faint traces of it from afar.  
"You look good," he states politely. 

"You too," you reply. You don't really know how to act. It sounds like you are talking to an ex and you don't like this feeling at all.  
The uneasiness dissipates a bit when Batman arrives and jumps toward you to get some attention. The dog is really excited to see you, not aware of the tension between you and his owner. You pet Batman with affection, cooing little endearments as you stroke the fur on his big head. 

"You want something to drink?" your boss offers you. It reminds you of the first night you came here, the night you spent cuddling in his bed. You were nervous as well, but it was another kind of nervousness, a good kind. There was excitation in it. Now, there is pain and fear.

"No thanks, I won't be long," you hasten to reply. 

"Okay," he mutters, rubbing the nape of his neck and looking at the floor. "Do you want to take a seat ?" 

You stay silent for a moment, looking at him as he avoids your gaze. There is so much discomfort in that silence that you don't want to endure it any longer. You are here to reopen the scars and let them bleed and someone has to start it.

"We are here to talk? Alright; I'm going to talk then!," you begin, letting all the anger you’ve contained for the past week flowing out of your mouth. "Why? Why did you pay me! Do you know how it makes me feel? " 

He looks at you from below. "I was confused okay!? I never know how to act with you. When I take you, when I sleep with you, I feel like I take something from you that isn't mine, something that must have been Rob's or I don’t know whose, but not mine!" He lets himself fall on the nearest chair and rubs his temples. "It was stupid, I know it. But I felt that I had to clear my conscience, that I owed you something in exchange of what you were giving me. "

"So you paid me as if I were a whore because you had conscience issues? Sorry Dean, but it doesn't make any sense!," you fume.

"What else could I have given you?," he pleads. 

"You didn't have to give me anything! I'm not a prostitute and I don't need men to take care of me either," you retort. "And why don't you trust me every time I say that I don't give a shit about Rob Kazinsky? Will you stop obsessing about him? I NEVER met him, okay? When I applied for that job, I didn't think sex could be involved, so I didn't apply TO sleep with him! Is that so hard to understand?, " you thunder. 

"You didn't apply to sleep with me either, you didn't know about it when you accepted to work with me. Jessica told me you were completely clueless, that you were angry to have to do that." 

"Yeah, it's true," you acknowledge, not really seeing where he goes with that. 

"But you chose to stay because you didn't want to lose your job, and I took advantage of it, I took advantage of you! And I feel bad about it every time I take you to my bed, but I can't help but want to do it again and again. I thought I had to find a way to make up for it!!" 

"You don't know me, sir," you warn him, "You think I'm just a little girl who can’t make her own decision? I'm not the kind of girl who sleeps with her boss just because she is afraid to lose her job!"

"Why did you sleep with me, then?"

You let out an exasperate sigh. "I thought it was obvious," you gesture dramatically toward him, "have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately? I did it because I was genuinely attracted to you, because I wanted it. " 

" 'Was' attracted ?" he breathed. 

"Yeah, 'was' ! I'm still upset you know! I don't think you fully measure how hurtful it is for me! Don't you realize that now I know how much I’m worth, how much money you think sleeping with me is worth?! Do you even realize how awful it is?!"

"I do!" he pleads and he seems desperate, "I realize it now! I know it's not an excuse but I thought it was the right thing to do. I know it's weird and hard to understand but I thought this way we could be in a more equal relationship. I've been a stupid jerk and I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I swear."

You know he is sincere. You can see he regrets it. He keeps his head down and runs a hand through his hair constantly. His voice is shaking and if you didn't know better, you would say that he is on the verge of tears. A part of you wants to accept his apologies. This part of you wants to take him in your arms and tell him that he doesn't have to think he owes you anything and that your wish is that you could give give yourselves to one another freely. You want to erase everything that happened and just return to the beginning again -- return to his arms. You still want to share with him this affection that feels so good. But there is also this part of you, mostly your ego, that has been hurt and wants vengeance. That little voice in your head wants to make him suffer. It's not always the good part of us humans that wins the fight and it's the vengeful side of you that decides to hit just one last time. "You really thought you could treat me like that just because you were my master?," you snap. 

 

There is suddenly the heavy silence between you, as if everything in the entire city stopped moving and was holding its breath. 

Dean blanches. "Your what? " he asks blankly. 

You gulp when you realize you just made a mistake, and a huge one. It's a word you are not supposed to use in front of him. "My… my…" you stutter. He stares at you and you can see the power and the energy of anger growing in him. You cannot get yourself to repeat it because there is a dangerous fire in his eyes. You realize that the fierceness Fili can display on a battlefield is not only acting, it also exists in the usually so gentle Dean O'Gorman. You thought you would unleash on him the wrath of the lioness but you are caught in your own game and the lion in front of you is about to roar. Dean likes to make fun of his small size sometimes, but right now, he doesn't seem small at all and you want to disappear under the carpet. 

"Your master, huh?" he begins slowly, his voice filled with contained rage, "is it how you call me behind my back?"

You nod. You just nod silently because you can't lie to those blue eyes full of storm, thunder and tornados. 

"Is it how you consider yourself? As my slave? My possession?," he asks you "It's not fair and not true. I made a mistake, yes but I never treated you like a slave." He doesn't shout but the way he succeeds in keeping his voice low and calm is probably more intimidating than any screams. "And what does it make me? What am I in your eyes? Is it what you tell people I am? A slave driver? A pimp ? A rapist?" 

You don't answer and stare at the floor. 

"And you come here to talk to me about mistrust and hypocrisy?" He lets out a humorless laugh, "that's rich, darling."

As you don't reply, he continues: "You asked me why I find it hard to believe that our relationship, or whatever you want to call it, is not a fake one? You don't understand why I feel the need to exonerate my conscience? " He holds your gaze for a moment. "I think you have your answer now."

"Dean, I …"

"I need to be alone," he cuts you. He walks to his front door and opens it. He shakes his head and sighs, "please, just go…"

You search in your purse and hand him a check. "Take your money back, I don't want it." 

"Fine," he replies sharply as he takes it. He searches in his own pocket and takes out a small white box decorated with a green bow. It's the one he had with him when he showed up at your apartment this morning. "I saw it in an art boutique in Auckland and bought it for you," he says in an irritated voice, "I guess you don't want it but I don't know what to do with it, so yeah, take it." He puts the box in your hands and you stare at it dumbly. 

He is still holding the door open and he looks everywhere but at you. You leave without looking back, feeling like you left your heart on the floor of his home and that you're leaving without it. 

You sit in your car and open the box. Nestled in green satin, there is a brass keychain with a cute steampunk little owl with big porcelain eyes and metallic gears on its belly. There is a cardboard square in the box with a message written on it.

_This way I know you won't lose the key to my house and that you can always use it to come back to me. xxx_  
 _D._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my fic. As always, your comments are what keeps me adding new chapters. I would not have updated so quickly if i hadn't read all your lovely comments on the last one. 
> 
> by the way: according to native americans, the owl symbolized help and protection in night time.
> 
> also: " The spirit of this animal encourages you to look beyond deceiving appearances into the true reality of a situation or a person’s motives."


	8. Lamblike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You need a hug right now, some comfort. You think about calling Jess, or Ry, or Mr Turner… yeah Aidan gives awesome hugs. But it's the wee hours and everyone is asleep and above all, it's not them you need the most right now. You need your man: your Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ADDITIONAL WARNINGS: angst, non-graphic mention of blood and injuries
> 
> I just put it to be safe, but it's not that bad, i promise. 
> 
> as usual: This story is only the fruit of my imagination and has nothing to do with the real actors and their real life. It is entirely fictional.
> 
> thanks and big hugs to my wonderful beta, Katyusha <3 <3 <3

_Sir,_  
 _Due to unexpected circumstances and because I think that my presence here creates a negative and counterproductive work environment, I would like to tender my resignation from my role as your personal assistant. I hope you will be able to find someone more suitable to perform that task._

_P.S. You spoiled everything. In fact we are both responsible. I think I might be even more responsible because I failed in my most important task: not falling in love with you, and I failed spectacularly. You made a mistake. But I know I made mistakes too. I didn't let you explain, I brushed you off instead of listening to you, I let the worst part of me talk instead of seeing that you were probably as vulnerable and confused as I was. I've been an ass too and I know you are hurt. I just wanted to say that I'm not the only one who calls her boss her "master". I think maybe I shouldn't say that to you because I would be betraying all my colleagues. Maybe I should also regret the day I sent my CV to this production, but I can't … because in the short time we have been "together" (yesterday it's been a month since you scared the hell out of me but I still finished the day asleep in your arms, remember?), you made me really happy._

_P.P.S I loved you, Dean. And sadly, I still love you. I'm sorry._

 

You write your name at the bottom of the Word document, take a Kleenex from the box nearby to dry your tears. You rumple it and throw it carelessly on your desk. You look down at your keyboard and wonder for a second how come it didn't break yet with all the tears you shed on it while writing your resignation letter. You sniff and erase the "P.S." paragraph, as well and the "P.P.S". You would want to say all those things to your boss and former lover, but you can't put that in your letter. Especially since PJ will have to read it and approve your resignation after Mr O'Gorman does. 

You print the letter and while you sign it at the bottom, one tear falls on it and you don't have the time to dry it before it creates a pale circle on the sheet. You curse but you are too tired to print another. It's 2AM and you have to go to work in less than four hours, you decided to wait until the end of the day to give your boss the letter. 

You put the letter in an envelope along with the key to his house and go to bed. You try to ignore the keychain in its open box on your nightstand. The owl seems to stare at you with a look of reproach. 

You lie on your back look up at the ceiling, knowing that sleep won't come easily. In the next few days you'll have to deal with a lot of uncool stuff: first of all, Dean's reaction. You don't know what to expect; anger, relief, sadness? And then, you'll have to deal with you friends and colleagues' incomprehension. If you don't find another job in Wellington, you'll probably have to move to another town too.  
You feel you throat tighten again and tears filling your eyes. Damn! You are so tired of crying. That's all you did since you returned home after your last conversation with Dean. You need a hug right now, some comfort. You think about calling Jess, or Ry, or Mr Turner… yeah Aidan gives awesome hugs. But it's the wee hours and everyone is asleep and above all, it's not them you need the most right now. You need your man: your Dean. 

You would want to have him here with you, in your bed, in all his naked glory. He is so sexy, so perfect in his little imperfections, so absurdly desirable. You crave the feeling of his masculine skin on you, the subtle roundness of his belly and his erection pressing to your body. You want him to take you by the hips firmly and fuck you hard, fuck the pain out of you, and then, when you are sated, to make love to you tenderly like one kisses a wound better. But he is not yours, never has been, never will be. You have to accept that fact. It was just a fling. 

 

You grab a pillow and hold it tight against your chest. You close your eyes and try to remember the feeling of having him close. It seems fresh in your memory but foreign at the same time, as if it happened in another life, a life that isn't yours. Now you are returning to your real life, a normal one, where you don't share a bed with famous actors. You cry yourself to sleep. 

In the morning, you do your usual routine in order to go to work. You sigh as you look at yourself in the mirror; you look tired and have bags under your eyes. Well, if it's the last sight he has of you, he won't regret you because of your stunning beauty.

On your way to work, you stop by a coffee shop and buy something fancy for you and your boss instead of the usual coffee from the catering. You almost feel like someone who gives a good last meal to their dog before bringing it to the vet to euthanize it.

He casts you a quizzical look when you give him his vanilla cinnamon latte. He just thanks you sotto voce but doesn't make further comments. Your gesture probably looks like a peace offering, and unconsciously, it is a bit like that. Maybe there is a part of you that still has hope, or, at least, that wishes that he will not keep a too bad memory of you. 

You both look so embarrassed and wretched it's nearly comical… except it really isn't. You want to ask him to smile, because he is so beautiful when he smiles. You miss the lively blond man with sparkling bright blue eyes, always joking and smiling -- the one who used to be your boss. If it's you who is extinguishing his inner flame like that, you’d better go. 

"I must go to the prosthetics, now," he sighs. 

"No," you object. 

"No?" he frowns.

"No, you have sword training with the rest of the cast and your scale doubles," you remind him. 

"Oh shit! That's true!" he rubs his forehead and looks so done. "I'm really out of my mind today." 

You can figure out why, since you feel the same. But he doesn't act with you like he is angry. Just like someone who is deeply wounded and doesn't want to let it show too much. He surely doesn't want to talk about it either. 

"But I'm not dressed for that!," he complains, gesturing at his jeans, "I forgot my gym clothes."

You look at him and try not to think of how much you loved slipping your hands in the back pocket of those jeans when you were alone together. 

"It's okay," you reassure him," I thought it could happen. I dropped by your trailer and took your black gym shorts and a t-shirt before coming here. They are in a plastic bag in the costume department, I left it there near your locker" you explain as he follows you to the said department. 

"Oh, well, thanks," he replies and seems uneasy, like he would want to say something else but can't get himself to do so. He smiles at you but the smile doesn't reach his eyes and look more like a wince. He takes a deep breath. "I hope you don't do that just because you are afraid I will whip you like the evil master I am," he adds, emphasizing the word "master" with disgust. 

It stings. You ignore him for a few seconds and just continue to walk, chin up. "I won't dignify that with an answer," you finally groan, opening the door to the wardrobe room. 

You peek at him from above your shoulder. His jaw is tense and he keeps his gaze to the floor. You see the hurt and the guilt he tries to hide behind a wall of sarcasm. You feel sad and there is this insane impulsion to hug him close and try to make it better… but the common sense says you don't pet a wounded lion, unless you have a death wish. 

You take the plastic bag from the floor and hand it to him as he puts his phone and his wallet on the shelf of his locker.

"Thanks again for the clothes, see you later," he says, avoiding your eyes. You understand that he wants you to leave him alone so he can change his clothes. Your boss is not of the shy kind and usually, he doesn't bother if you are there while he changes. And that's not like you’ve never seen him in his underwear before, but today, it's different. The trust has been broken. You gulp, trying to suppress the tingling in your eyes, the telltale sign of upcoming tears. You pinch your nose and leave the room to give him his privacy. 

You rejoin Jess in the gymnasium; she is texting, seating on a wooden bench with the other PAs. She lifts her head from her phone long enough to greet you with a smile. You let yourself fall on the bench next to her. As Jess resumes her silent conversation with her phone, you realize you have forgotten yours on the kitchen table at home. Apparently, it is not just your boss who is distracted today…  
The trainer gives some weapons to the actors and scale doubles and asks them to pair up for the training. You heave a sigh of relief when you see Dean asking Mr. Turner to be his training partner. You're glad to realize there is no bad blood between them after what happened yesterday morning. You don't want them to be in conflict after you leave. You pry at Jess, absorbed in her texting and at Ryan and Ros, chatting quietly… how are you going to tell them that you are quitting the job?

You turn your attention again to Mr O'Gorman and Turner. The Irishman has a challenging grin as he attacks the kiwi mercilessly with his fiberglass and foam sword. Dean fends off with impressive skill, his face blank with deep concentration, his bare toned legs flexing with the effort of beating back the taller man's vigorous blows. He looks both strong and agile, his karate black belt probably helps his moves to look stable, calculated. It's not Fili the warrior but Dean the warrior you see in action. Aidan, on the other hand, with his long lean gracious body, fights like the dancer he is, his steps rapid and precise. You rest you chin on your fist, your elbow on your thigh, hypnotized by the combat between the two magnificent male predators. You cannot help but feel a little spark of pride in your chest whenever it's Dean who touches Aidan with his weapon and scores a point. You definitely have your favorite… not that he cares anymore. 

At the end of nearly two hours of fighting and training, the trainer calls a break and you bring a towel and a bottle of water to your boss. He drinks and dries his sweaty forehead but you don't talk. When the break is over, the scale doubles and stunts guys who were training with the actors leave and the trainer asks the actors to pair up with their PAs for cardio training. The actors have to run for a short distance and make as many goings and comings as they can in 5 minutes. You have to time your boss and count them for him. 

"Aidan told me," he tells you just before the trainer gives the starting signal. He runs to the other side of the gymnasium, leaving you there to ponder what he is talking about until he runs back at you. 

"One. Told you about what?" you ask him, looking down at the stopwatch. 

"About you and him," he replies quickly, and he is gone again.

"Two. You sure you wanna have this discussion here?" 

"Yes." 

"Three. As you wish, sir," you sigh. 

"He told me nothing happened between you and him." 

"It's the truth." 

"Are you attracted to him?"

You frown and wait from him to return. "Five. Why do you want to know that?"

"I need to know," he hastens to say before speeding again to the other side of the gymnasium.

You stay quiet for a moment and just let him run.

"Ten. We are just friends," you specify. 

"I wouldn't blame you, he is dreamy," he pants. 

"Eleven. I have no desire to go there. Jess is my friend." 

"You think she would mind? I rather think she would give you a high five." 

"Twelve. You should stop talking and run." 

" I would mind, though." 

"Thirteen. What? "

"I don't want you to sleep with him."

"Fourteen. Why?" 

"You know why." 

"No, I don't."

You don't have time to discuss any further because the five minutes is up. The actors have another break before continuing their training and the assistants, including you, have to go to another one of those boring meetings about the work on the locations. You listen distractedly and pretend to take notes but you are just drawing random doodles on your notepad. What is the point anyway? There is this letter in your purse that just waits to be in his hands like a weapon you know will end up piercing your own heart. You search in your head for the right words to say when you will give him this damn paper but nothing seems appropriate. You almost regret that you’ve written it… but after what happened last night, did you really have a choice? So yeah, there will probably by another pretty girl to warm his trailer's bed when he is shooting on locations, and it won't be you. 

As soon as you step out of the meeting room at the end of the day, he is there, leaning on the corridor's wall, still in his gym clothes. Was he waiting for you? You take a deep breath to steady your nerves, but your mouth is dry when you tell him: "we must talk." 

"Yeah, I think we must…but you seem so serious. What do you want to talk about?" 

"Can we go somewhere private?" you ask. 

"You want to come to my trailer?" he offers quietly. 

You shake your head. No, not his trailer: too many memories, too much temptation. In fact, you are not even sure it's a good idea to be alone with him. 

"Well, there are people everywhere in these studios, but I know a place near the parking, they never lock the door," he states.  
As Jessica passes by, you grab her by the arm. "Jess must come with us!" you blur out. Maybe having your friend with you will help you not to break down, or burst into tears… or worse. And if she knows at the same time as him, you won't have to repeat it and replay the painful and awkward scene more than once. 

Dean raises a brow, "I thought you wanted to talk in private." 

"I changed my mind," you stutter. Damn, you sound so stupid. 

"So I'm going to hear some secrets. Hmm, I like that!" your brunette friend beams. 

"Well… if it's what you want," your boss replies, staring at you sceptically. 

As you get outside, Jess hails her boss who is smoking outside the building. "Hey sir! Do you want to hear some dark secrets? If you do, you might want to come with us." 

Dean looks at you and you shrug. "I didn't think it would become a public assembly…" he says, clearly not enthralled by the turn of events. 

Aidan walks beside you as you cross the parking in the direction of the warehouse that contains some old models and pieces of set from Lord of the Ring. It must be the place Dean was talking about. 

"Do I have any business in this?" the Irishman asks you. 

"No… well, yes and no," you muse. 

"Oh, does he?" your blond master asks in a groan, looking more worried than actually angry. 

The Irishman ignores Dean's remark, "Do you want me to be there then?" he asks you. 

You look at him for a moment. "Yeah," you finally say. Maybe it's better if he is there too; he is good at talking sense into people, both Dean and Jess. It might be very useful to deal with the aftermaths of your announce.

"I hope you didn't do anything foolish and took a thought out decision," Mr.Turner whispers to you as he leans on the white wall of the storehouse, waiting for Dean to open the door. 

You clench your teeth and don't answer. As soon as you are inside, you make your way between the fake stonewalls and foam rocks.  
Dean sits on a little table. "So, what did you want to tell me so privately," he grunts, casting a displeased look at Aidan and his PA who are just waiting, looking at you expectantly. 

"Not much. I just have to give you this." Your hands are slightly shaking as you take the cursed letter and hand it out to him. " After that l'll return home."

He frowns, looking at it, then into your eyes. His blue orbs seem to say "please, tell me it's not what I think it is." He doesn't react for a moment but he finally reaches out a hand to take the envelope.

Dean opens it and lets the key slip out of it. He stares at it as it rests in the middle of his palm. He looks back at you with disbelief and you suddenly feel like it was the worst idea ever to get Jess and her boss involved. You peek at them. They don't seem to get what is going on yet, but with Aidan's poker face, it's hard to tell. 

Your former lover unfolds the letter and it takes him only a couple of seconds to scan the few lines. You see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he gulps, "is it really what you want?," he asks in a cold voice, his eyes still on the printed words.

"What, what's going on?" Jess asks, suddenly alarmed by the tension in the air and the heavy silence that follows Dean's last sentence. 

"She is quitting the job, she is leaving," Dean replies in a whisper, so low, as if he didn't want to hear himself saying it. 

But Jess hears everything, every time, "What? WHAT ?? What the actual fuck !?!!" she thunders. 

The kiwi shakes his head. It's a pity to see him so lamblike. You wonder if he hasn't given up on you completely. Oddly, even if you are the one who intend to quit, you would like to see him put up a fight to keep you. Bloody stupid sentiments. 

"I guess she’s had enough of her awful MASTER, huh ?" he hisses. 

Jess's eyes widen and she gives you the "oh,-no-you-didn't!" look. 

Mr Turner raises a brow, "her master?" he asks. Jess's eyes widen even more if it even is possible, and the glare she gives you would be scary enough to rout a whole army from Mordor. You are no better than dead. 

"Yeah, that is how she calls me, apparently," Mr O'Gorman lets out, not daring to look at you. 

Mr Turner chuckles, always his laid-back self, "well, I think I like that. It is borderline kinky, no? I already heard an actor calling his PA his 'personal ass', so 'my master' is nearly cute in comparison." 

You clench your fists. You nearly succeed in repressing the trembling in your voice when you say: "You told me to leave, sir, that's what you told me last night, so that's what I do." You try to justify your resignation, you can't tell him that it's because you have feelings for him, you can't, not in front of the two others, not at all. 

He shoots you a pained look. "No! I told you to go, but not like this, not this way!" 

"YOU!," Jess roars, pointing an accusatory finger at you, " you come with me, NOW!" She takes you by the wrist and drags you out of the storehouse. You are powerless to resist. "What's your problem!?" you try to protest. 

"You. That's pretty much you my problem right now," she snaps, dragging you to the nearest building which happens to be the WETA on-set workshop. She pushes you into an empty room and closes the door behind you both. 

"Okay, now explain what's going on!" she orders. 

"I don't think there is much to explain…"

"Oh I think there is. What's that shit? You are leaving and to make sure everybody will remember you, you told your boss about the 'master' thing? That wasn't a very great move to make!"

"I didn't do it on purpose, I swear," you defend yourself; "it slipped out of my mouth in a moment I was angry and sad and very emotional." 

"You understand that now you kind of blew our covers, they aren't supposed to know about that !!" 

"I know, I know, I'm sorry." 

"Will you tell me what happened, there must be a reason why you are leaving? Something must have happened," she says, crossing her arms and tapping her foot on the floor impatiently.

"Yeah… something happened…" 

"What ? I'm not very good at guessing games so you'll have to talk."

"He paid me, okay !!?? He paid me for sleeping with him, disposed money in my bank account every time I left his bed after a night with him. I was angry, I was hurt, I said he couldn't treat me like that just because he was my master, and then it was his turn to be angry and hurt. I lost him. I don't know what to do other than leave!" You are so tired to repeat it, so tired of explaining and opening the scars again. In an odd way, it hurts less than you expected. At least, the fact that he paid you hurts less now. Because you know now that he did it out of confusion. He did it because he doesn't understand either how to navigate in that weird relationship you are supposed to build for one year and a half, being together in secret, being intimate but without being really allowed to. You are working for him, but you are not supposed to be working anymore as soon as you cross the door of his bedroom, or is it his house? He doesn't know what he can and can't ask of you, what he can and can't take. You cannot really blame him for being uneasy, because you feel the same. You are still sad but what hurts the most is the fact that you hurt him. 

"Oh god…," Jessica sighs and she lets herself fall on the floor.

You sit by her side, resting your back on one of the shelves of a rack full of weapons. You both stay in a somehow comfortable silence for a long moment. You know she is trying to get her head around your problem too. 

She finally turns her head and looks at you. "Normally, and if it was any other actor than Mr O'Gorman, I would have said right away that he is douchebag for doing what he did…. but that's really not like him to act like a jerk." 

"I know," you reckon, "and he apologized and I know he is sincere. And he took his money back. But I think the trust is broken between us and I don't know if it's repairable. 

"I don't say that only because I don't want you to go because I really don't want you to go," she tells you, "but have you tried just to let the dust settle, just talk and see if you can give it another chance."

"I'm not even sure he wants me to stay," you sigh, resting your head on her shoulder. 

"If he didn't want you to stay, he would have looked all comprehensive and would have send a bunch of flowers to your apartment along with an 'I wish you the best' card to be sure not to feel guilty," she objects. 

"What tells you that there are no flowers waiting for me outside my apartment right now?"

"He rather looked like someone who had just been punched in the face, not someone who was about to call a florist." 

You meditate for a moment, evaluating the possibilities in your mind. "Okay! Let's assume you are right," you reply, "let's assume he wants me to stay and we make up. What, then? We resume having mind-blowing sex and lazy Sunday mornings together and in one year and a half, it's just "bye bye Deano", that's it, that's all?!? How am I supposed to feel about that?" 

A smirk starts to appear on her face. "Mind-blowing sex, huh?" 

You blush. "Well… actually, yes…sex with him is pretty amazing…" 

She winks at you. "I bet it is. I don't usually get the hots for men who are smaller than me but Dean O'Gorman… oh god… since I saw him in that police uniform, grrrr." She bites her bottom lip and lets out a suggestive purr. 

You feel suddenly nostalgic as you think back to the night of the private party. "Well, now he will be available," you state. "Maybe you can work for him too and have mind-blowing threesomes. I'm sure Mr. O'Gorman wouldn't oppose to that, he said Mr.Turner was dreamy." 

"Hmmmm. Don't give me ideas!," she says playfully, but she becomes serious one second after, "But nope. I don't stand a chance. He only sees you. You sure you really want to leave, or you just want to see him on his knees begging you to stay? Don't be offended, I just know how we girls work. " 

Maybe she is right after all; maybe the only thing you want is having him back. In fact it's probably the only thing you wanted all along. "I don't know… maybe," you ponder out loud. 

"It's a dangerous game to play," she points out. 

"How does it work, for you and Mr Turner ? How do you manage to make it work?" you ask her. 

"We don't try 'to make it work', that's the trick," she replies. "We don't think about the future, what has to happen will happen anyway. We don't think too much, we don't have expectations and we enjoy what we have now, that's all."

"I don't know if I can get myself to think that way," you sigh. 

Everything happens really quickly. At first, it's as if a giant or someone with really big feet had entered the workshop and makes the ground trembling under its steps, and then, your brain catches up and you remember that giants don't exists. The shaking doesn't seem to stop and the room is trembling more and more. You shoot a glance at your friend and she looks back at you, her eyes wide.  
"Earthquake" she simply says but you read it on her lips more than actually hear it because the ground is shaking so intensely now that the weapons on the metal shelves are clinging against each other and it make a terrible sound. Panic is clenching your guts. You two manage to stand up as the earthquake is getting more intense and the ground is roaring under you, shifting under your feet. 

"WATCH OUT!!!!," Jess screams and she drags you away violently by the arm as an enormous rack full of metal weapons replicas tumbles from the wall. Something scratches your arm as the rack crashes on the floor on the spot where you were one millisecond before. 

Another rack falls to the ground with a deafening noise as you both manage to get to the other side of the room and hide under a table. You cling to each other, curling into two balls of fear under the table as you see almost all the weapons jumping off their shelves like they were alive. The earthquake lasted probably less than 5 minutes but it seemed like an eternity. For long minutes you just don't dare to move, still in each other's arms. But the ground seems quiet now so you start to move slowly. 

You blanch when you notice a wide red spot on the sleeve on your friend's shirt. "Jess, you are bleeding," you say blankly. 

"I don't feel anything," she objects. Then she looks at you and it is her turn to become pale. 

"It's you, you are hurt!," she squeaks. 

You look at your own arm and see the long and deep wound that crosses almost all the length of your forearm. "Oh shit!" you curse. You didn't notice the pain at first because of the adrenaline but that's a quite bad injury and it pisses blood on your own clothes and there is already some on the floor. 

Jess takes her flowery scarf off and gives it to you. "Press it to the wound and keep pressure on it," she orders you, "I'll try to find a way out." You do as she asks with a hiss of pain. She gets out from under the table and spans over the weapons scattered on the floor. She tries to reach the door but the shelves that almost killed you had fallen just in front of the door in the way that blocks it. Jess tries to open the door, to push or pull the shelf away from it but it's too heavy for her and you are injured. You are both trapped inside. 

"Fuck, FUCK, FUCK !," she groans with frustration. She slams on the door with her palms screaming "HEY !!! WE ARE STUCK HERE !! HELP !!!" But no one replies. 

"Nobody knows we are here," you point out, "the day is over, there is probably not many left in the studios at this hour." 

"Ah damn! I'm so stupid!!" She growls, taking her phone out of her pocket and dialling a number. "Come on Turner, answer, please answer," she pleads him, her legs shaking with stress. "SIR!!!" she practically screams in the phone when he picks up. You heave a sigh of relief. She explains to him what happened and where to find you. A few minutes later, you hear someone knocking on the door from the other side and Mr Turner's voice telling you that he will find someone with a saw that can help you out. 

The whole thing takes approximately 30 minutes. Jess helps you out from under the table and sits with you on the floor, rubbing your back, hugging you and talking to you gently as you keep on putting pressure on your cut with her scarf. 

As soon as the studio's employees have finished cutting the door and that the hole is big enough to let a man enter the room, Mr Turner steps in and rushes toward you, an expression somewhere between worry and relief on his handsome face. 

"Oh thank god," Jess lets out in a breath as she stands up and hugs her master. They hold each other for a brief moment and your heart tightens. Where is your own boss… well, former boss? Apparently he doesn't give a shit that you might be in danger.

Mr. Turner lets go of his PA and kneels beside you as one of the crew members asks if you need something from the other side of the door. "We will need a first aid kit," the Irishman tells him.  
"You're okay?," Aidan asks you softly, "how is your arm?"  
"I'm okay, mostly, but it's still bleeding, I think I will need something more effective than a scarf," you answer honestly.  
He helps you up, rubbing your back gently. Then, he helps you to walk across the racks and through the hole in the door.  
As soon as you’re outside the damn room, Mr Turner makes you sit on a chair. A few minutes later, someone comes back with the first aid supplies and Aidan thanks him. "You can let me do it if you want, I have a first aid licence," he tells you with a soothing voice.  
You nod. "Just let me see," he murmurs as he takes the scarf off your arm to look at your injury. As soon as the scarf is removed and you stop putting pressure on the wound, it starts to bleed again.  
"Hmm, that's pretty nasty," Aidan comments, I can make a temporary bandage but you need stitches, you'll have to go to the hospital I'm afraid."  
He puts on some rubber gloves and wipes the blood with sterile gauze. You hiss from the pain. He offers you a warm reassuring smile.  
He presses another square of gauze on the wound and wraps a bandage tight around your forearm.

"I'm impressed, you seem to know what you are doing," you compliment him. 

"Male nurse was my second career option," he replies casually.

"So you can save a lot of damsels in distress," Jess mocks her boss. 

"Yeah, exactly, and it works quite well for me since I saved not one but two pretty damsels today," he laughs. 

Jess snorts. "Talking about distress, where is Mr. O'Gorman ?" she asks suddenly. 

"I don't know where he is,"Mr Turner replies, "Iast time I saw him he was still in the warehouse where we talked, he wanted to stay alone so I left him there. He wasn't in his trailer after the earthquake, I guess he returned home. I tried to call him but he didn't pick up."  
"It's not like him not to answer his calls and texts outside of work," you object," he always answers within seconds. I saw him put his phone in his locker this morning, maybe he forgot it there." 

"Maybe he just didn't want to talk to anybody," the Irishman points out, " it's not a reproach, but he seemed pissed off and miserable when I left him." 

You gulp. 

Mr. Brophy and Mr. McTavish appear in the corridor and they heave a sigh of relief when they see Mr Turner. 

"We are checking if everybody is okay," the scot tells him. 

"We have a wounded here but it's taken care of," Aidan answers, winking at you as he finishes fixing your bandage. 

"Yeah, I have my own knight in shining armor," you smirk. 

"Where is Deano? I thought he would be with you, Aid, " Mr Brophy asks. 

"I haven't seen him since before the earthquake but I'm sure he is safe home," the Irishman states calmly. You wonder if it's not you he wants to reassure rather than the two actors. You actually start to worry for your ex-lover. 

"Here it's only two racks that fell down but is there any other damage in the other studios?" Jess asks them. 

"Nothing major," McTavish replies, "just one of the warehouses where they store old Lord of the Rings' stuff that collapsed. "  
You suddenly feel like someone had poured some acid inside your guts as fear crunches your throat. 

"You mean the storehouse just before the cast's parking?" you ask in a high pitched voice.

"Yeah, this one, exactly, the white one," the scot confirms. 

You look at Aidan and you can see that, even if he doesn't start to panic as you do, he is really worried now. He takes his phone from his pocket, flicks his finger on the screen and presses it against his ear. The Irishman put a reassuring hand on your knee. You can hear the rings through Mr Turner's phone and with every new ring that stays unanswered; you feel your heart beating a little faster. 

Mr Brophy raises a brow, "What's going on?" 

Jess and you exchange a worried look. "This storehouse is the last place we have seen her boss," she explains to him.

At the end of the line, Dean's phone is still ringing. "Come on Deano, answer your damn phone," Mr Turner murmurs urgently. 

"Hi there! If you wanted to call Dean O'Gorman, congratulations, you have found me…" it's his voice mail. You clench your teeth and take a deep breath in order not to panic. You don't give a shit about what happened between you two anymore, the anger and the misunderstanding; it all flew away from your mind. The only feeling that stays is the fact you care for him an awful lot. 

"Ok man, if you take that message please call me back right away. We need to know where you are and that you are doing okay. " Mr. Turner hangs up and looks at you. "You need to go to the hospital; I'll drive you there if you want." 

"No!" you object firmly, "I won't go anywhere until I'm sure he is fine. "

"Okay, okay," the Irishman acknowledges. 

"We should go to the costume department and see if his phone is still in his locker," Jess suggests.

"We are going to go check on Adam and Ryan, Stephen said he saw them enter Adam's trailer just before the earthquake," Mr. McTavish says, "give us news about Deano, Aidan," the Scot adds before leaving, followed by Mr.Brophy. 

You three head up to the costume department. Apparently fear and concern are like a really strong coffee because no matter how wrecked and exhausted you felt two hours ago, now you walk faster than you probably ever did and the two other have a hard time following you. You have a rush of adrenaline and your heart is drumming crazily in your ribcage. 

"Do you know his lock code?" Jess asks you as soon as you are in front of his locker. 

"I don't," you hasten to reply, "but we don't need it, we just have to call his phone," you add, turning around to face Aidan. He gets your silent message and takes his own smart phone from his pocket. Mr. Turner dials the Kiwi's number. You cross your fingers and pray internally. You can't hear anything in the locker. Apparently he took it before leaving. If he doesn't pick up, it's because he doesn't want to… or worse… because he physically can't. The mere idea of him being injured or in danger makes you feeling sick.

The Irishman leaves another message: "Deano, that's not funny, don't be a little brat and call me back." 

"Fuck!" Mr Turner curses, turning his phone off. 

"Where is he? Where is he?" you repeat nervously.

"I don't know, hon, I'm sure he is okay, " Jess tries to reassure you, putting a hand on your shoulder. It doesn't work; your nerves are on edge. The only thing that could reassure you now is seeing his face or hearing his voice for real.

"I don't want to make anybody freak out," Aidan began, as quietly as possible, "but we should take a look at this warehouse, it's the last place I saw him." 

Even before the Irishman has finished his sentence, you are already leaving the room and walking toward the cast's parking. They have no choice but to follow you. 

When you get there, there is nothing you can do but behold the desolation, half of the roof and one wall have collapsed inside.  
"You can't stay near, it's too dangerous," a man tells you. Another staff member is busy placing an orange band around the area so nobody tries to go there and gets injured. 

Your heart is pounding like crazy when you ask Aidan to try to call your boss again. 

A few seconds later, you feel like all of the blood in your body drains to your feet when you hear the familiar ringtone of Dean's phone from somewhere inside the ruins. You were already shaky but now you are trembling like a leaf in the wind and cold sweat covers the back of your neck. 

"He is in there, HE IS IN THERE !!! DO SOMETHING !!! WE MUST CALL AN AMBULANCE!" you shout, completely panicked, grabbing Aidan's clothes and shaking him shamelessly. You don't feel the pain of your injury. A cold fear has replaced the blood in your veins. The Irishman doesn't react, his face pale and blank. 

That's when you see Dean's car in the parking lot … the car is moving, someone is driving it. You just freeze on the spot and stare at it.  
The car stops, the door opens and the familiar blond head appears. You let out a strangled cry. When he sees you, the kiwi shouts your name anxiously and jogs in your direction. You don't think, you just run and throw yourself in his waiting arms. "Dean!!!," you cry. You don't give a fuck that there are staff members and other people around, you don't care about the rule number one right now. You are just relieved, so relieved. 

He puts a gentle hand on the back of your head. "Oh my god, babe, you okay? " he asks you, trying to look at your face but you stubbornly hide it in the warm skin revealed by the flare neck of his gym t-shirt. "I was so worried; I thought you were at your flat," he explains, "I went there and a guy from the fire brigade told me I couldn't enter. They didn't let me go inside your building to check on you. People on the street were saying that there had been damage in it and that some people were injured. I was so afraid it could be you," he lets out in a long breath, holding you close to his chest and petting your hair clumsily. 

It's so good to feel his warmth, to hear his voice. For a moment you thought you would never hear it again. You won't cry, you shouldn't cry… too late you are crying. 

"It's okay, I got you," he whispers, his lips against your temple. "Please, just tell me you're alright," he pleads. 

"Mate, you scared the shit out of us. We heard your phone in there and thought you were stuck under the rubbles," you hear Mr. Turner's voice saying from behind you. 

"I'm sorry, really," the kiwi apologizes, still holding you tight, his arms around your waist, rocking you gently. "I'm really distracted today. I just forgot it in there. I had just seated in my car when the earth started shaking. I didn't want to scare you guys." 

You dry your tears with the back of your hand and that's when he notices the bandage on your right forearm and the blood on your clothes. "Oh shit! You're hurt! How did it happen?" 

"She fought bravely against a rack full of weapons but it won," Aidan explained before you could answer. "But seriously, she is lucky to be alive; it's my wonder woman of a PA who saved her life. I fixed her a bandage but she needs to go to hospital for stitches. I offered to take her there but she stubbornly wanted to find you first. You are lucky to have someone who cares that much for you, man," he tells him, patting his shoulder. 

"Jeezus, thanks buddy. I owe you. I can take her to hospital, now," Dean replies quickly. 

"I am still here, you know?" you whine, since they were talking like you weren't there. 

"Sorry, " he breathes, wiping off a tear from your cheek with his thumb." Me and Aid are just overconfident males who want to take care of our ladies, regardless if they want it or not," he jokes with a gentle smile, the first smile you’ve seen in his face for a while.  
"Exactly, " the brunet man approves, "I have to go check on my own lady, I think she is still a bit shaken after what happened but nothing a cuppa and some cuddles cannot fix." 

"Ta," your boss replies. 

Mr Turner squeezes your shoulder in a friendly gesture, "give us some news later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, take care of Jess," you tell the Irishman, leaving your boss' arms reluctantly. 

"Will do," he assures you before walking away to join Jess who is talking with Stella, Mr. McTavish's assistant.

You turn to look at your boss. The first wave of relief passed, you don't know if you should be embarrassed or not, but he seems not to be bothered by your sudden outpouring of affection. In fact, it seems to be quite the contrary. 

"I would gladly offer you tea and cuddles," he says, tracing the contour of your wet cheek with his thumb, "but I think what you need the most now is medical assistance, come on, I'll drive you to the hospital. You can dismiss me after that if it's what you want, but not until I know you are fine." 

 

 

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for leaving me your comments, that's why i keep on writing this story.


	9. Off your High Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've been injured during the earthquake and Dean accompanies you to the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks and hugs to Katyusha. I have no words to express how grateful I am to have such a good friend and a wonderful beta. <3
> 
> as usual: This story is only the fruit of my imagination and has nothing to do with the real actors and their real life. It is entirely fictional.
> 
> I know some of you were waiting this chapter impatiently. Less action in this chapter but i hope you guys will like it.

"You okay?", "Does it hurt too much?", "Are you comfortable?" Dean looks at you anxiously and inundates you with questions whenever the car stops at an intersection.

His concern is cute but you are still on edge. You now feel drained and on the verge of tears after the rush of adrenaline you had during the earthquake and when you thought your boss was in danger. Yes your arm hurts like a bitch but you have no choice but to tolerate it.  
"It's not that dramatic," you tell him, your voice trembling slightly, "I'm not giving birth, I just have a cut." You regret it immediately. Why on earth did you say that? Though you cannot prevent your mind from analyzing this possibility for a second; it makes you even more emotional when you realize that the idea of being pregnant with Dean's baby would be scary as much as … exciting… but horrible. 

He gives you a side glance. "I'm sorry," he apologizes, "I'm still a bit nervous I guess. It stressed the hell out of me, not being able to find you and not knowing what was happening to you."

You suddenly feel warm inside, it's so good to know he cares for you. You offer him the best smile you can put on your face in the circumstances. 

A couple minutes later, the car turns onto Ridifford Street and Dean enters the parking of Wellington's Hospital. The parking is quite crowded and there are several ambulances getting in and leaving, full speed and sirens wailing. You are probably not the only one who was injured during the earthquake. 

Dean parks the car and unbuckles your seatbelt before you could try to do it yourself. 

"Thanks," you mutter as you get out of the car. He escorts you toward the dark gray and terracotta colored building, his hand placed gently on the small of your back. He opens all the doors for you so you don't have to use your arm. You would be lying if you said that you don't enjoy the attention. Your boss is back to his gentle, caring self from before the fight. It's the Dean you know and love—the one you appreciated as a friend, a colleague and a lover… but it's also the one to whom you gave a resignation letter only a few hours before. 

It's been a rather rough day and you feel the telltale signs of a headache coming in addition to the pain in your forearm. You want painkillers, a hot beverage, a blanket and a sexy Kiwi to cuddle with. But for now, you can't have any of those. All you have is an uncomfortable plastic chair in a crowded waiting room with too cold air conditioning. 

The hospital's staff have a lot of urgent cases to treat so you are not a priority and the receptionist tells you and Dean that you will probably have to wait for a few hours to see a doctor. You are lucky that Mr Turner was skilled enough to make a good durable bandage. 

When he sees that you are shivering because of the air conditioning, Mr O'Gorman, despite your protestations, immediately goes back to his car to grab a sweater and lend it to you. So you wind up curled into a ball in his large sweater, bracing your legs with your arms, listening to the music of his ipod with one headphone as your master listens with the other, his arm resting on the back of your chair. You feel way better in his comfy sweater that smells like him and he has chosen some calm instrumental music that helps steady your nerves. 

Though, you feel bad that he is stuck at the hospital with you since you can manage without him. 

You suddenly take the headphone out of your ear. "You can go back home, you know, I can take a cab to get to my flat," you tell him.  
He turns off the music and replies : "I said you could dismiss me when I know that you are okay and since we haven't seen the doctor yet, I cannot be a hundred percent sure you are alright, so I'm afraid you are stuck with me for the next hours," he states. 

Better not fight against the legendary stubbornness of the line of Durin. In fact you are glad to have company. 

"Plus there is the fact we don't actually know if you'll be able to get into your apartment. Apparently, the building’s been damaged," he adds. "They didn't want me to enter it when I went there to check on you," he explains," it really made me upset and I did something I never thought I would do one day." 

"What?"

"I snapped and cursed at a poor firefighter."

"Oh." You simply breathe, not knowing where he is going with it. 

"I have a great deal of respect for firefighters, you know," he tells you, "they saved my sorry life once." 

"Really? What happened ?" you ask him, intrigued. 

"Well…" he begins, hesitating, as if it was something especially embarrassing, but he has this cute little smirk floating on his lips. "When I was nineteen, I got stuck in a mailbox and the fire brigade had to pull me out."

You cannot help the laugh that crosses your lips instantly. You clasp a hand on your mouth to muffle it. "You… you… how did you even do that?" You ask him, your shoulders still shaking with laughter. 

He giggles and tells you how, one day when he came back from a night shoot, he had forgotten his keys in his apartment and tried to open his door from inside by putting his body into the mailbox in the wall of the apartment block's. 

"But I couldn't quite get the doorhandle," he giggles, gesturing like someone who is trying to get something out of reach, "and I thought 'I'm gonna go back out,' but then I realized I had nothing to push against."

You cannot help but join him in laughter, not just because the story is utterly ridiculous, but because of the way he is telling it, so enthusiastic, with all his body at once. You notice for the first time that he talks with his eyebrows as well as with his mouth. You wonder how you didn't notice that adorable habit before. 

He licks his lower lip before continuing, telling you that his flatmate at that time was an older Irishwoman who was drunk all the time. "So I started yelling 'MAGGIE ! MAGGIE ! I'M STUCK!' and she woke up from her, you know, alcohol induced sort of coma and she walked past me and opened the door and I was like 'I'm down here' and she noticed me and was like 'Holly fuck ! What the fuck are you doing there?"

You are laughing so hard now, it hurts. Almost all the other patients in the waiting room are now looking at you and your overjoyed boss. 

"That is true!" he assures you, " and I was like 'I'm stuck, I can't get out!' She tried to pull me out but she couldn't because she was this older drunk Irishwoman. I told her 'what are we gonna do?' So she fetched a drink, she sat down on a chair next to me and said, 'we are going to call the firebrigade.' The firebrigade turned up and because of the lights of the fire engines, people in the apartment block were like "fuck! There is a fire!" and they went down in the lobby. All they could see was my feet and they thought a body had been stuffed in the mailbox."

You laugh so hard you think you're going to pee in your pants and you try quite unsuccessfully to muffle you hiccups in the sleeve of Dean's sweater. People around are giving you funny looks and there is a little girl who is looking at Dean like he was telling the most wonderful fairy tale ever, though her mother blocks her ears every time your boss says "fuck". 

"This is all true, I swear !," your boss grins. "And the fireguy walked in," he narrates, "he looked at me, totally deadpan and went 'you're alright?'" Dean is frowning and imitating the firefighter's low unimpressed tone in a way that makes you crackle again.

"They grabbed my legs, but they couldn't get me out," he continues, "so they had to cut a hole in the wall to straighten my body enough and pull me out."

"OH my god !! This is so ridiculous, it's surreal!!," you laugh, "But did you get hurt or something?"

"No wounds, but my dignity was harmed," he chuckles. 

At the end of his story, you laugh so hard you have tears on your face and your stomach muscles hurt. 

He, on the other hand, has the widest and most brilliant grin as he watches you trying to get back you breathing to normal. You can see he is proud he distracted you, made you laugh, kept you from boredom and made you forget the pain. He is so adorable you want to kiss his smile. Of course you can't and you don't. 

A few moments later, a cute blonde girl in her mid-twenties walks toward you two and stops just in front of Dean. "Sorry, are you Dean O'Gorman, the actor from The Almighty Johnsons?"

"Yeah, it's me," he replies hesitantly. With your boss' story and you laughing like a hysteric seal, you have probably attracted the attention of half the people in the large waiting room. It's not that surprising that there is at least one person who has recognized your master. 

"I really like the show, "she says, batting lashes, honeyed voice and sweet smile, "would you mind taking a photo with me?" 

"What is your name?" Dean asks her. 

"Anna." 

"Listen Anna, I'm really glad you like the show and it's really great when people show us their support… but I don't think it's the time, nor the place. I'm with a person who is injured and…" 

You put your hand on his forearm and lean down to whisper in his ear. "Don't mind me, take that photo if you want to," you reassure him. He smiles at you a little and turns toward the girl. 

"I'm really sorry. I think you can understand that if I take a photo with you, I'll be forced to say yes to everyone who will ask me from now on. But you can write to my fan mail and I'll send you an autographed photo, yeah? " he says, polite and quiet.

The girl's smile falls but she nods. "I'm sorry I bothered you and your girlfriend," she apologizes. 

"It's okay," he reassures her, not correcting her on the fact you are not his girlfriend, "if we were elsewhere I would be glad to take this photo." 

She nods again, clearly disappointed but fortunately, not upset. 

"It was lovely to meet you, Anna," he tells her with a gentle smile. 

She smiles back and takes her leave, going back to her chair on the other side of the waiting room and hides behind a decor magazine.  
"She was pretty, you should have asked for her phone number," you tell your master, choosing to ignore the "girlfriend" statement. 

"Nah," he objects, shaking his head and playing distractedly with his ipod. 

"You're not afraid she can take a sneaky photo of us ? Put it on the internet or try to sell it?"

"I don't think I'm famous enough to be interesting, " he replies, "and even if she did, it would only be a photo of two people in a waiting room." 

"Magazines don't need proofs, they only need rumors, " you assert. 

"Let's not worry about that, I'm not Madonna, really," he smiles at you and puts his arm back on the back of your chair and relaxes in his own seat. 

You want to curl up against him, at least rest your head on his shoulder. You sense that he would let you do it, probably even rest his head on yours, but you resist… too many people around. And this Anna girl is still watching stealthily from behind the magazine she pretends to be reading. She is probably at least a bit jealous of you and you cannot help but feel a twinkle of mean satisfaction in your chest. Though, you cannot blame her for eying him, he is such an eye-candy. But the difference between you and her is that you have already tasted this Kiwi fruit, you know how delicious he is, hence, you know what you are missing. She, on the other hand, can only imagine it. 

Suddenly the idea of not being able to cuddle with him anymore seems horrible. He still has your letter somewhere, in his pocket maybe, or in his car. Technically the next step is for him to accept or reject your resignation. You know he won't reject it, because he is not the kind of person who likes to control people or go against their will. 

The next three hours are spent in small talk, listening to music, playing little games together on his ipod. When the nurse finally calls your name, Dean asks you if you want him to come with you. 

You hesitate, you are a big girl after all, but you finally answer a little shy "yes." 

He nods and follows you to the doctor's office. 

The nurse makes you sit on another horrible plastic chair and grabs a file and a pen to take notes. 

She asks a couple of questions and you tell her what happened and after that, she makes you remove your top and put on one of those horrible blue hospital gowns. The nurse examines you succinctly, checking your pulse, your pressure and your temperature.

Dean stands up in silence in a corner of the white and blue room, holding in his hands the sweater you had to remove for the nurse to check your vital signs. He is smiling at you softly whenever your gazes meet. 

"Doctor Perry will be here in a minute to check on your injury," the nurse tells you before leaving you alone with your boss. 

Dean steps toward you as you are still seated on the examination table. He puts a gentle hand on your arm. "How are you feeling?" he asks for probably the fifteenth time tonight. 

You sigh, " I'm fine, I'm just really tired… what time is it? " 

"11h36 PM," he replies after a quick look at his watch. "Don't worry, soon it will be over and you will be able to rest, " he reassures you, rubbing the inside of your elbow with his thumb. He has given you more intimate caresses before but you still shiver slightly. 

There is a moment of silence. He suddenly takes a deep breath as if he is going to say something he has held back forever. "You cried on the letter, didn’t you? There was a wet spot on it. "

You don't confirm or deny, you just watch him and you feel your throat tighten. You wished he would not notice this single tear on the paper… but you must have remembered that you can't fool the observation skills of a photographer. 

"Please," he whispers, "tell me this resignation was just a jest to help me realize how much of a stupid jealous knob I'd been and kick my ass to find a way to make amends for it …. I would like that option much more than if it was because you really want to leave for good."  
Unshed tears make your eyelids itch and you fail to hold his gaze. You don't know what to say, you don't know the right words to use.  
You hear him sigh and when you look back at him, his head has dropped forward in defeat. 

"We were good together, before I made a complete jerk of myself, weren’t we?" he asks you in a low voice full of a hope that makes your heart ache. 

"Yeah, we were really good," you acknowledge, trying to soothe him with a little smile. There is still hope, surely there is, you want to believe it. Your arms circle his middle section and you pull him against you because you can't endure the distance anymore, you want to hold him. You are one inch away from resting your head on his shoulder when the door handle clicks. You let him go and Dean steps back as a beautiful black-haired Maori woman enters the room. 

She smiles at you and reaches for a hand shake. "Good night, I'm Doctor Perry." She also shakes Dean's hand as you introduce him as a friend of yours. Her smile is radiating kindness and you immediately feel at ease.

She scans what the nurse has written in your file and asks to see your arm. 

"That's a neat bandage," she comments as she cuts it with scissors, and she turns to your boss to ask him, "you did it?" 

"Nah, my little brother did," he replies with a proud smirk. He winks at you when the doctor looks back at your arm. 

She makes a little displeased noise when she inspects your injury under the raw neon light of the medical room. 

"Oh my god, you should have told me!" your boss hisses when he sees your wound. Yeah, you didn't give him many details on how injured you actually were. He was already so worried you didn't want to add to his stress even more.

"It's a long and deep cut, you made the right choice by coming here," Doctor Perry tells you, "you will need at least six stitches. It doesn't look infected yet but let's not take any chance." 

She covers your injury with fresh gauze and turns around to take a notepad on her desk. "I will prescribe you broad-spectrum antibiotics to prevent any infection and some painkillers, but before, I have some personal questions to ask you, because the pills I want you to take are pretty strong." 

There is a silence in the room. 

She peeks at your master. "Maybe we can ask Mr. O'Gorman to wait outside until we’re done with our little chat," she tells you quietly.  
Your master nods and moves for the door. 

"No," you retort firmly, "he can stay." 

"I don't mind staying, but are you sure?" he asks you and you nod in approval. 

You don't have anything to hide from him – he has already seen you naked, drunk, tired as fuck and he has also seen you in the morning, with messy hair and a bad breath more than once. Plus there is the fact that his presence appeases you and you don't really want him to go. 

"Okay then," the doctor calmly states. "I have to ask you if there is any chance you could be pregnant?" 

You should have expected this question… and you did, in a way, and still a wild blush spreads on your cheeks. "Er…," you hesitate, even if the answer is quite simple, "no, I'm not pregnant," you finally stutter. 

Her elegant eyebrows frown slightly. Clearly your hesitation has put some doubts in her mind. You cough and try to hide your embarrassment because you can sense that the lack of confidence in your answer will just lead to more questions. You just don't dare look at your boss and keep your eyes fixed on a roll of medical tape on the desk, but you can somehow feel the intensity of his gaze on you. 

"When did you have your last menstruations? " she questions you.

"Three weeks ago." 

"And your last sexual intercourse?" 

You blush even more if it's possible and you hum, trying to remember. So many things have happened since the last time you shared a bed with Dean, it seems like an eternity. You make the count in your head, "a bit more than one week ago, approximately" you reply, actually astonished that only one week has passed. You restrain yourself from peeking at Dean to seek confirmation that your calculation is right. It seems surreal that only nine days ago, you were in his arms, in that happy care-free little bubble, not knowing that the apocalypse was coming. 

"How many different male sexual partners did you have in the last three months? "

"One, only one," you hasten to reply, not able to erase the blush from your cheeks, since said sexual partner is in the same room right now. You regret a bit that you asked him to stay. You just hope he won't be crept out to hear you talk about your sex life in front of a stranger. 

"And how many of these sexual relationships were not protected?" she continues. 

You clear your throat and regain your self-confidence a bit. Still, you don't want to look at Dean who assists to this entire scene from the corner of the room, like a silent shadow. "None. We used protection every time." 

She stares at your for long seconds before saying; "We will make you run a test just to be sure, okay ?" She takes a bottle for urine samples from a shelf and puts it in your hands. "The toilets are just the other side of the corridor, I'll be back in ten minutes," she adds before leaving you alone with Dean. 

"Don't worry, " you tell him, as soon as the door is closed, playing distractedly with the bottle in your hands, "there is no way I am pregnant. We've been prudent." 

"Yeah, we've been very prudent," he echoes. 

Still there is this "what if " that is floating in the room between you two but no one dares to comment it. 

Dean ducks his head to the side and watches you, trying to catch your gaze. Without a warning, he steps closer and pulls you in a warm hug. "Whatever happens, it's going to be okay," he murmurs in your hair, but you can sense he is scared too and that he is trying to convince himself as well as you. "I think I’d better leave you alone so it won't be even more embarrassing for you. I'll wait for you in the waiting room." He plants a quick kiss on your temple and leaves the room. 

You feel strangely numb and blank, like you are not in your body, like what is happening right now is not happening to you. You still manage to reach the bathroom to do what you have to do. 

Dr. Perry comes back to collect the sample and introduces you to the nurse who is charged to make your stiches. 

You are too exhausted to feel any kind of stress or pain as the nurse stitches your forearm skin. As soon as she is done; you are once again left alone in the room. You lie down on your side on the examination table and nearly fall asleep. It makes you jump when Dr. Perry opens the door. 

"The tests were negative to pregnancy hormones," she tells you right away. 

You heave a relieved sigh you didn't know you were holding as she writes down the prescription on a note pad. She gives you the piece of paper. "You'll have to take the painkillers every four hours and the antibiotics once a day for the next ten days." 

You thank her with a weak smile and wish her a good night before you join Dean in the waiting room. 

He lifts his head and looks at you with worried puppy eyes. You don't tell him right away but as soon as you are both seated in his car, you turn toward him. "No baby dwarf in my belly," you say quietly, trying to ease the tense atmosphere. 

You can see the relief wash over his face in the half darkness. "Okay…good…. But if there had been one, I would have taken my responsibilities, you know…" he breathes out. 

"I know you would," you reply, rubbing your temples to chase the headache, "but since it's not the case, let's not talk about it, okay?" you ask him, you are not in shape enough for that kind of emotionally filled discussion. 

He nods and starts the car. 

You make a stop at a pharmacy that is open 24/7 to purchase your pills and then, you take the direction to your flat. Just as Dean predicted, there are still policemen and fire engines blocking the road. A firefighter tells you that all the inspections of the buildings on your street haven’t been made yet and that you'll have to wait for at least two more hours to know if your apartment block is safe enough for you to return to your flat. 

"You can go back home, see if Batman is okay, I can wait here," you tell your boss.

"No way that you are waiting here alone in the cold while you are injured," he objects. "Why don't you come with me to my place? You'll be able to get some real sleep and I'll drive you back here tomorrow morning," he offers. 

It's a tempting offer. A warm bed… it's nearly as tempting as the beautiful man looking at you right now. 

"Okay…" you finally concede. 

He takes you by the shoulders as he leads you back to his car. 

As he drives in Seatoun's neighborhood's streets, you can see that your master is anxious. He hasn’t come back to his house since the earthquake, he doesn't know if his house is intact and above all, if his baby puppy is safe. 

"At least my house still has a roof," he comments when he parks the car in the street. From outside, his house doesn't seem to have suffered from the earthquake at all. 

"I know someone who will be happy to see you," he tells you as you two walk to the door.

"And you, are you?" you ask him. 

His smile falls as he unlocks his front door and he sighs loudly. "Yeah, I am," he answers," But at the same time, when I remember it's maybe the last time I see you, I'm not."

Without much surprise, you find a bouncing, yapping, excited Batman behind the door. You both lean down to greet the Irish wolfhound with kisses and cuddles. The dog makes sure to cover both your faces with as much saliva as he can manage. From the corner of your eye, you can see the expression of relief on your boss's face for the third time tonight. 

"I just have a quick call to make," Dean tells you, as you keep on petting Batman, seated on the grey carpet of the little hall way.

You nod but your nosy self pricks up an ear to listen to his conversation as he talks on the phone in the dining room. 

"Hi mom. It's Dean. Did I wake you up? … Yeah I figured out you would still be up and waiting for my call. How are you? …. Okay…. And Dad?....Hmm… yeah I'm sorry mom… yeah… no, I lost my cell phone, that's why you didn't reach me… I was at the hospital… no, don't worry, I'm okay. It's a friend from work she hurt her arm during the earthquake and I drove her to the hospital… yeah, she is fine now... yes, a "she" friend, like you said (you hear the smile in his voice)… and Brett ? … okay, I'm glad to know he's fine…. Haha! No, I haven't forgotten… I'll do that, promise… I'll call you tomorrow, okay mom? … I love you too… night!" 

You stand up and join him in the dining room. 

"You want to take a shower maybe ?" he asks you, stretching his back and running a hand in his golden hair. 

Your pervert mind takes a detour to the side of your brain where the memories are stuck of that one time, two weeks ago, when you ended up together in the shower.  
………………..  
He takes some shampoo from the bottle and scrubs his hair, his eyes closed, to not get soap in them. 

He slicks back his wet hair with one hand. You notice that they have grown a lot in the last few weeks. It's really adorable because it makes them look even more untamed. But right now, it's not about how cute he is that you are thinking about but rather how sexy and confident he looks. 

He rubs his arms, shoulders and pecs with vigor, smearing the soap on the expanse of his slightly freckled skin. 

"You’re not washing, gorgeous?" he asks you.

No, you’re not because you are busy watching him, mesmerized.

"If you are too tired, I can do it for you, " he offers with a wink.

He doesn't push you against the wall, it's you who steps back, because he is standing in front of you, his ocean gaze drilled in yours and all his being inspires strength and manliness. All you can see is him. He steps forward and puts his hand on the side of your neck. 

"Would you like that?" he asks, more seriously, his eyes suddenly dark with desire. You don't have to look down to notice his hard on. 

"Please," you murmur teasingly, "I'm way too lazy to do it myself. "

He smears soap on his hands, puts it back on the edge of the bathtub and roams his soapy hands on your curves, taking your lips in a slow kiss.  
…………….  
You shake your head to chase the memories and the unrequired arousal coming with it and you muffle a yawn behind the hand of your valid arm. 

"I just want to sleep right now," you insist. 

He nods and heads up to his room. He comes back with some folded clothes and a huge double places camping mattress under his arm.  
He gives you the clothes and you realize it's exactly the same gray t-shirt and flannel boxers he lent you the first time you were sleeping in his house. As you change in the bathroom, you wonder if he did it on purpose. 

When you come back to the dining room, Dean has inflated the camping mattress and has placed it under the large table, he has put two pillows on it and he is busy fixing the sheets and blankets over it. 

You watch him, puzzled. "Who will sleep here?" you wonder out loud. 

"Both of us," he replies casually. 

You arch a brow, "under the table…" 

"Under the table," he confirms, getting out from there and standing up. "I promised my mother." 

It just confuses you more. He chuckles when he sees that you don't have any idea what's going on. 

"My mom spent her childhood near Christchurch, and they had a lot of earthquakes there," he explains, "so, when there was an earthquake, she and her family used to sleep under the tables the night after, so if there was seismic aftershocks, they were protected. And anytime there was an earthquake somewhere in New Zealand my mother made us, me and my brother, sleep under the kitchen table. It wasn't really necessary, since Auckland doesn't really have many earthquakes, but it has become like a familial tradition. And frankly, me and Brett were just excited to make a blanket fort around the table and camping in the kitchen and play with our flashlights." 

You smile with fondness at the thought of little Dean, all blond curls and big blue eyes, building a blanket fort with his little brother. 

"Sometimes, when I Iearn from the news that there has been an earthquake, I sleep under the table with Batman," he confides, blushing slightly, "not because I'm actually afraid, but since Batman is not allowed to climb on my bed, he likes when we spend a night spooning together." 

You chuckle at the cuteness. 

"I hope you don't mind if we sleep here?" he asks. 

"No ! Not at all ! It's really adorable. I'll be honored to help preserve the family tradition." 

"And Batman will sleep between us, he will be our chaperon, our chastity belt," he adds with a smirk, taking off his shirt and his shorts. He is now wearing nothing but some blue underwear. 

You bite your lower lip at the sight and rejoin him under the covers. 

Clearly, Batman knows what's going on because as soon as you are in the improvised bed, he climbs on the mattress and crashes down on his side between you two, his back to Dean's chest. Batman turns his head and licks his owner's chin like as if saying "what are you waiting for to spoon me?" Dean giggles and throws his arm around the dog and pets his furry belly. The dog lets his head fall to the mattress and heaves a relaxed huff. 

You two pet Batman in silence for a while as your hands and fingers sometime meet and brush against each other's in the animal's fur. There is a comfortable silence in the house and you feel good probably for the first time today. 

Your boss rests on his elbow, his chin in his palm and he looks at you, meditating. "Is it really what you want, to leave the job? " 

"I don't know," you sigh," I don't really want to go, I just thought it was the right thing to do after what happened between us, since you were angry with me." 

"I got off my high horse, you know, " he says, playing gently with the tip of one of Batman's ears. 

"Me too," you reckon. 

"I'm an actor. I play characters on a daily basis. I'm tired of pretending I'm someone I'm not in my private life as well," he tells you, very serious, "I wanted to be integrated to the cast, be part of the gang. I wanted to be accepted by everyone but especially by Richard and Aidan, so I kinda felt I had to do the same things they did with my own PA. At first I thought, 'yeah, casual sex, I can do that, any man can do that. If Anders can, I do too.' But no, apparently I can't, at least not without feeling guilty or like an impostor. I'm tired of using you and making you sad. I hate that feeling... "

"So you slept with me only to be part of the gang… what should I think about that? " you grunt. 

"I just want to be honest with you. That doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it, that doesn't mean I don't care for you," he explains softly, "I was caught in the game almost as soon as I met you and I was afraid when I realized I liked you very much and that I had rushed things and I could lose you because of that. That's what you should retain: that I really like having you around and that I don't want you to go. Do you think we can do that? Begin again, from the start, like nothing happened? Be friends, be colleagues, learn to know each other, properly this time… and if something has to happen between us, this time it won't be forced in any way?"

"Yeah… I guess we can try," you hesitate, testing the idea in your own mind, but a smile is born on your lips. He wants you to stay, he likes you. 

"Obviously, we cannot 'date', since we can't be seen together in any romantic context but I would like to … you know…" he looks down and bites his upper lip for a second, "I would like to 'court' you properly. And I swear I won't talk to you about Rob Kazinsky anymore. And I don't have any reason to be to be jealous of your affection for Aidan, right?" 

"You don't have any reason to be. Aidan and I are just hug buddies," you tease him. 

"Oh yeah?" 

"Yeah. Though, I like your hugs much more. Mr Turner is all bones and hard muscles, you are more comfortable."  
He chuckles. "Did you just call me fat?" 

"I said 'comfortable', " you object, "in all the right places," you add, pinching his waist playfully. 

He lets out a yelp of protestation but he laughs and when his laughter dies in the silent kitchen; his gaze on you is soft and loving. "If Aidan has the chance to be your hug buddy, can I be yours too? I can renounce sex between us, but I don't think I can live without hugs." 

"Fair enough," you agree, studying his face in the dim light. His dimples are showing and also the little creases on each side of his nose that only appear when he is both calm and happy. He is beautiful, you want to reach a hand and caress his bearded cheek. You are friends now, though. And honestly, you are quite happy with it. You can live with that since his plan is to court you. A second chance is what you wanted and you sure will take it, even if it means being deprived of his gorgeous body for a while. You can make this sacrifice, it’s surely worth it. Having Dean as a friend, and a friend you can cuddle with, is definitely better than not having him at all. 

"Let's sleep now," your boss says in a long yawn, "I'll wake you up for your painkillers in four hours." 

"Thanks," you mutter but you are already dozing off. You fall asleep almost right away, probably with the effect of the morphine.  
It feels like you have just slept a couple of seconds before you are woken up by fingertips grazing the skin of your forehead. You open your eyes and blink before your eyes focus on blue orbs that are looking at you from above.

Dean hands you a glass of water and you accept it without a word, still dizzy from sleep and you gulp with difficulty as you swallow your pill. You mutter something that doesn't make much sense even to your own ears and the last thing you hear before drifting into sleep again is his fond chuckle. 

Once again, you cannot really tell if you’ve slept for hours or only a few minutes before you are woken up by Batman's frightened barking and another weird sound. Your fuzzy mind notices that the earth is trembling again. You understand that this weird sound is in fact the one of the dishes clashing in Dean's kitchen cupboards. You try to sit up and nearly hit your head under the table. Batman is curled into a trembling ball against Dean's back. The blond man opens his eyes and pulls you into his arms straight away, protecting you head with his hand reflexively. Your press your face on his pectorals as the ground continues to shake. You are frightened but a lot less than the time in the workshop. You feel safe in your master's arms, surrounded by his scent and his warmth. In fact, you wonder if there is even one other place on earth where you would feel safer. The earthquake doesn't last longer than two minutes and is definitely less intense than the last one. But even when it's over and the house is quiet again, you stay where you are, listening to the actor's deep breathing, your head resting in the crook of his neck and shoulder. 

"You don't want to move from where you are, do you?" he asks you. 

You shake your head, stubborn. "You said that hugs were legit; just see it as a really long hug." 

"Right, you can stay," he says with faux annoyance in his voice, "I'm starting to think that you will make my resolution of taking it slowly very difficult to keep." 

You don't answer but smirk a little.

"Sleep, little devil," he whispers. You shut your eyes and you feel sleep attracting you into darkness. 

You will probably never know if you have dreamed that long kiss on your forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your kudos and comments. You can make plot suggestions too, I'm not running out of ideas, don't worry, but i like to know what you would want to read :) 
> 
> p.s. sorry for the useless sexy shower scene, I'm just a perv.


	10. Butterflies in the Stomach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's actually very… romantic. There’s an army of joyful butterflies with fluttering wings in your stomach. But life isn't all rainbows and butterflies and tends to put obstacles in the way but you won't let life wrests him from your arms, at least not without putting up a fight. Fortunately, you have allies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is only the fruit of my depraved imagination and has nothing to do with the real actors and their real life. It is entirely fictional. The attitude of the production I describe in this story has nothing to do with the actions of the real Hobbit Production, it's only fiction. 
> 
> Once again, thanks to my patient, precise, clever and efficient beta, the incredible katyushha. <3 lots of love. 
> 
> I'm sorry it took so long. :( Hope you'll enjoy it!

"I'm supposed to be your assistant, not the other way round," you sigh as Dean puts your food platter in front of you on the table.  
"Bon appétit," he beams, ignoring your comment. He knows you don't approve the way he helps you with everything while you're the one who's there to help him.

You feel the soft pressure of a large hand on your shoulder and you lift your head to smile at Mr Turner. "I'm glad you're back," he chimes. 

"Thanks, sir." 

Dean also smiles at you before turning toward Mr Turner to ask him something about the next scene they have to shoot as the Irishman sits on a chair next to your master. 

It's your first day at work since the earthquake two weeks ago. You would have been ready to come back on set after two days but despite your protestations, your boss had insisted that you take more time to rest. You also received flowers and "get better" cards from almost all the actors and their PAs, which warmed you heart. 

During your weeks of recovery, Mr O'Gorman was the best friend you could wish for. He showed up at your apartment after every day of shooting to keep you company, bringing you food, games and DVDs. He also helped you change your bandages despite it wasn't the most agreeable task to perform. 

These moments together gave you a chance to reacquaint, to talk and learn to trust each other again. This whole "platonic friendship" vow is actually less difficult to bear than you thought it would be. Of course, you're not made of wood, and sometimes, when you're alone in your bed at night you can't help but feel a deep desire of making love to him and when he falls asleep on your couch while you're playing with his hair as you're watching a movie, you look at his peaceful features and you would like to taste those soft lips just once more. But you don't. And somehow, it's not that torturous. You are both taking your time and you know it's for the best. You know that if at some point you have sex with him again; it will be without guilt, second thoughts or feeling that it's a duty or a task to perform.

That doesn't mean you don't have any physical contacts. Your master seems to take his "hug buddy" status to heart and whenever you are alone, he takes every opportunity he can to pull you into his arms. You don't complain, oh no, why would you? When a beautiful man, looking and smelling all manly opens his arms and whispers, "come here, you," it would be crazy to refuse such an offer. You never talk when he hugs you; you just stay there and hug him back. You feel his breath in your hair and his heart pounding against your breast. It's comfortable, your bodies getting used to a simple proximity. In those moments, even if his solid body is tempting, you never think about sex. Sex is always at least a bit about getting your own way, getting satisfaction. When you're in his arms, you just think about him – him as a human being, with his emotions, thoughts and needs, ambitions and dreams, his own inner beauties. In those moments you realize how awfully and deeply in love you are. You don't even dare to wonder if he feels the same. He feels something, it's obvious, there is definitely something in the way he relaxes in your arms, there is something behind those sweet blue eyes: but what ? 

While you were healing, Jess had two crazy weeks, playing PAs for both the terrible twins. She accepted to replace you, arguing that nobody would want to see a stranger turning around Mr. O'Gorman while you were away. "But all along, I couldn't get your threesome idea out of my head," she teased you on the phone, one day when you called her to see if everything was alright. You had laughed at that comment, knowing that she would never do something like that to you. 

"You're doing something on Wednesday evening?" Dean whispers to you later that day as you are sewing back in place with a needle a piece of fur that had fallen from your boss's costume during a shot. The wardrobes are all too busy with Mr. Nesbitt's costume that nearly disintegrated during the last take to fix Fili's little costume problem. 

"I'm free," you whisper back, "what do you have in mind?" 

"Choice!" he beams, "It's a surprise. I'll pick you up at six in front of your flat, okay?"

"How do I have to dress," you ask, intrigued, feeling a bubble of excitation forming in your belly. 

"Comfortable." 

"Perfect," you smile, replacing his wig's hair on his shoulders and around his face, brushing your fingers lightly on the patch of hot skin on his neck, above the latex edge of his prosthetic ears. Of course, you make sure it doesn't look deliberate, even if it totally is. The warm smile he rewards you with is totally worth the risk, though. 

\--------------------------------------

Wednesday afternoon arrives more quickly than you expected. Blue jeans, running shoes and a cute blouse, that's the comfortable clothes you choose for your "date" that isn't really one.

"Oi! What are you doing, dummy?!!" your boss curses Batman who's trying to throw himself out of the window as the car slows down in front of you on your street. You manage to step forward and grab the Irish wolfhound Staffordshire by the collar before he can jump on the asphalt as the car parks before the sidewalk. 

"Since I told him we were going to take a walk with you, he's excited and I can't control him anymore," Dean laughs once you're in the car. 

"Bad, bad dog!" you repremand Batman but he clearly knows it's a jest cause he just wags his tail and pricks up his ears. 

"Where are we going?" you question your boss. 

"You'll see," he smirks, keeping his eyes on the road. 

You take two seconds to appraise him as he drives. He looks both casual and sexy in his white tee and jeans coat and you wonder how he manages to look that good all the time. 

As soon as he gets out of your neighborhood, he takes the highway number one, but it doesn't give you any clues on where you’re going because that road crosses all Wellington. 

After a couple of kilometers, he turns onto Everton Terrace but since you don't really know that part of the town, you still have no idea where you're going. It's a beautiful neighborhood, with a lot of trees. 

"Welcome to Wellington Botanic Garden," Dean announces, parking the car in front of a gate. "The official excuse for coming here is that I bought a new filter for my camera lens and I want to take photo tests of vegetation in the sunset. But this is just a pretext. In fact, I thought it was a nice calm place to spend some quality time with my dear assistant."

"That's a lovely idea ….but… the gate is closed. Look, the placard says the garden closes at 5:00 and it's 6:30," you point out, checking the time on your phone. 

"Don't worry, I have contacts," he replies, winking at you. As he says that, a white jeep with the botanic garden logo on its door parks on the other side of the gate and a guy steps out of the jeep.

Dean gets out of the car and you do the same. The young man has a huge smile plastered on his tanned face as he unlocks the gate and walks toward you to greet Dean cheerfully. 

"This is my friend Ahi," Dean tells you. "He works in the garden as the night guardian," he explains to you after he had introduced you to him as his friend and co-worker.

"I took pregnancy photos of his wife," Dean explains as you climb in the car again while Ahi keeps the gate open to let your boss' car in. "I said I would do it for free but he insisted that he owed me a favor. I didn't know what to ask until I had this brilliant idea this week end. We have the garden all for ourselves." 

You cannot help the smile that is born on your lips: wandering together in a garden at sunset: that's actually very… romantic. There’s an army of joyful butterflies with fluttering wings in your stomach. 

You put Batman his collar and leash in the deserted parking of the Garden Treehouse Visitor Center as Dean gathers his equipment. Ahi wishes you a nice evening through the opened window of his car and the jeep disappears behind the building. 

You walk up a little paved path that leads you up a hill in a reconstruction of the famous New-Zealand's beech forests. You can hear the faint rumor of the city's cars but apart from that, the garden is calm. There is a warm breeze that is playing with your master's blond strands, the beech's leaves and the sunset golden moving shadows. 

Dean snaps a couple of photos of the trees as you're walking together, chatting quietly, like you have all the time in the world. It's relaxing, it's perfect. You get to another part of the park, where other specimens of native New Zealand trees are growing. You're strolling under the cabbage trees, the tall Nikau palm trees and the Kowai trees with their long branches heavy with bright yellow flowers. You admire the nature and it's a good thing you're not in a hurry because Batman stops every three meters to sniff a new interesting smell on the side of the path and Dean stops every five meters, attracted by a new angle to try or an interesting light effect on the leaves to immortalize– he is seeking images like Batman is collecting scents. _Like dog, like owner_ , you think fondly. 

You stop by an interpretative panel while Dean is taking a low angle shot of a tea tree covered with delicate pink flowers. Batman, for once, sits quietly at your feet and waits as you read. 

Your boss stands up and you join him. "Did you know that New Zealand has 200 different species of ferns and that approximately forty percent of them don't exist anywhere else in the world?" 

"Yeah? Wow. I didn't know that," he replies, and he seems genuinely interested. 

"Okay now," he declares, putting his camera back in its transportation bag," enough photos for tonight. There are other beautiful things that deserve my full attention." he adds, looking at you with that dimpled smile that could make rocks melt. You blush just a bit and try to hide it poorly. 

You walk side by side and the conversation drifts to the matter of the next private party and you both try to guess what will be the theme. You're both making the most extravagant speculations. Then, you fall in a comfortable silence, just enjoying each other's presence. 

Suddenly, there are fingertips grazing on the skin of your wrist and your palm. Since you are walking pretty close to each other, you wonder for a second if it was accidental or not. But when said fingers intertwine with yours tentatively, you know it wasn't. You reply by curling your thumb around his and squeezing lightly. You feel like the warmth of his smooth palm spreads through all your being. It's not the first time you take his hand but this time, it feels different, it feels new. You don't really know how to explain it with words. It just feels good and right. 

"I know I already told you that but I'm really glad you didn't quit the job," he whispers. 

"I don't regret my decision," you assure him. "What would you do without me anyway?" you smirk.

"Indeed. I would be unleashed in the world, not knowing that New Zealand has 200 different kinds of ferns. I would be a danger for the society," he teases you. 

You bump his shoulder playfully with yours, but he just lets out a little laugh. "It's true though. I'm glad I still have you." 

You both stop walking and you see his blue eyes sparkling. You lose yourself in his gaze for a minute. The temptation of kissing him is surely there but you don't know what to do. Is he thinking about the same thing you are right at this moment? 

You are dragged out of your happy little bubble violently when Batman barks and his leash escapes from your hand. You don't have any time to react before the dog just dives into the pond of the water garden chasing after a duck and its ducklings. The poor mother is squawking on the top of its little lungs, trying to defend its babies against the furry monster who’s just appeared in their pond. 

"BATMAN !!!! COME HERE !!! BATMAN !!!! " you both call the dog. You don't want him to hurt the ducks. 

"COME HERE, BIG IDIOT !!!" Dean thunders as Batman finally decide to stop harassing them and swim back to the bank.  
Batman climbs back on the grass and he shakes off muddy water all over you and your boss as you try to grab his leash and prevent him from going into the water again. 

"Oh my god ! BATMAN! I still love you but you're such a moron today!!" the actor grumbles. "I'm so sorry!" he apologizes to you.  
"No offense, it's just water," you laugh, brushing some drops off your jeans. 

Your master takes his camera out of its bag. "I must take this in picture. I think I will I'll make a 'dog shaming' photo montage and add a cartoon bubble saying ' I'm Batman and I like chasing poor innocent ducklings and when mommy and daddy scold me, I punish them by watering them like plants." 

Taking a picture of wet-Batman is more complicated then it seems. You try to make the dog stand still, seated in the grass before the pond but every time you step away to get out of the shot or when Dean steps back to snap the picture, the dog stands up and walks toward you or toward Dean to lick his face or his camera lens. 

At the fourth try, you really start to realize how ridiculous that scene is. "You have to stay there and not move," you instruct the dog as you make him sit again but something has attracted his attention in a tree nearby: big black eyes and a rosy nose – a possum. Dean snaps his head around and sees the little animal too. "Don't even think about it," he warns his dog. But the wolfhound really doesn't care and tries to jump toward the tree. Luckily you have anticipated his move and you brace your arms around his neck in a hug. Batman seems to think "Oh hugs! I like hugs!" and he forgets about the possum right away in order to lick your face. You burst in laughter again falling to the ground with the dog in your arms. You hear your master giggling and the tale tell "clicks" of his camera.  
"Hey!" you protest, "I'm not supposed to be in the photo!" 

He doesn't reply, looking down at the screen of his camera with a warm smile. As you stand up, still keeping the dog's leash firmly in your hand, he steps closer to you to give you the camera so you can see the picture. He rests his chin on your shoulder as you look at it.  
It's you, obviously, laughing, your arms around Batman's neck. You seem happy, relaxed… you usually don't think you're photogenic, but this is a really good shot. He captured this carefree moment with all the talent he can display. 

"It's cute," you comment, not really knowing what to say.

"I really like this one," he murmurs, taking back the camera, his arms around you and running his thumb across the little screen, caressing your face on the photo. 

You rest your temple against his. "Maybe you should delete it, if you keep it in your camera; some people might see it and imagine things." It's not an intimate photo subject in itself… but since, there is something in it that tells the affection you have for each other.  
"I won't delete it, it would be criminal," he objects, "but I promise I won't show it to anybody if it's your wish."

"Okay," you finally consent. 

He takes your hand again. "Come, I know a good place to chill out after so much action." 

You smile and follow him. You take a paved road that leads you up a hill with some white round buildings on top of it that are designed to shelter powerful telescopes. 

"This is Carter Observatory, they are studying southern constellations and the solar system," Dean explains as you cross the parking and take a narrow alley that leads to another parking. Then, your master leads you to a stretch of grass on the other side of the second parking. 

You stop breathing for a second. The view from there is just stunning. You see all Wellington and the bay. The sun is set; there is only a thin yellow line on the horizon and the city starts to illuminate like a Christmas tree, its night lights reflecting on the bay's calm water.  
You sit on the grass, Batman lies down on the ground nearby, resting his head on his paws. 

Dean sits behind you, his legs at each side of yours. You are alone together so you rest your back against his front. You feel his chest moving slowly with his breathing and at some point his arms circle your shoulders from behind. You lean into the embrace and sigh contently, listening to the song of the crickets and smelling the mix of earth and plants from the garden and your companion's manly scent. 

You close your eyes. You don't need to talk. Just feel. You feel complete, content. You wouldn't be elsewhere. But suddenly, you remember that this is just temporary. You don't want to think about that, you don't want to spoil that moment. You pull yourself together and remember Jess's advice --- you don't think about the end of it, you have to live here and now. And here and now is just perfect, with your master's warmth, and his arms around you and his rough cheek in your hair. 

"I'm happy," he whispers in your ear. It sends shivers down your body and your arms cover with goose bumps. 

"I'm happy too," you reply. 

 

Later that night, when Dean stops his car in front of your flat, Batman is already sleeping on the backseat, clearly exhausted. 

"It's been a really nice evening," your master tells you softly, "we should do it again sometime." 

"Definitely," you smile." Good night Mr O'Gorman," you add, reaching for your door. 

"Wait, I'll get out of the car just one minute," he says, "I want my goodnight hug." 

He joins you on the sidewalk and takes you in his arms, caressing your back. You hold him tight, resting your head on his shoulder.  
He lets you go and you look at each other. He cups your face in his hand and runs a small thumb on your cheek, "I want that kiss, don't mistake me, " he explains," the desire I felt for you before is still there, stronger than ever. It's just…. I want to make it right. And… I'm not ready." 

"It's okay," you reassure him, "I'm ready to respect your pace." 

"Thanks." 

"Is a kiss on the cheek out of question?" you ask him. 

"Course not." 

You kiss his cheek, he kisses yours. His lips are soft and teasing. It's far from sexual and still the air is charged with electricity.

Once you're in your bed, you fall asleep quickly, like nothing bad can ever happen again. 

\------------------------------------------------

Her real name is Greta Campbell, but among the P.As and behind her back, you all call her "Grunta"… because she is grunting, all the time: complaining and pestering, treating you like a bunch of children. Officially she is the public relations assistant director delegated to the non-acting staff and blah blah blah. It's Friday afternoon and you are in the middle of a reunion with the script department's staff and the other P.As. You are there for a formation on how to help your bosses learning their lines more efficiently. You are listening and taking notes diligently when Grunta enters the room and right away she asks the script department members to leave because she needs to talk to the actors' P.As immediately. When she appears out of the blue like that, it's never a good sign and this time she seems on the verge of grunting louder than ever.

You exchange a glance with Ryan who is seated by your side. His expression is mirroring yours, a mix between worries and exasperation. 

"Some events came to my… attention," she begins, when she is sure the door is closed and locked, her high heels clattering on the floor as she paces in front of you. She scans the whole of you with a haughty look. "It seems that some of you are not as discreet as they should be."

Your heartbeat accelerates. Somehow, you feel targeted by this remark. For example, you remember the way you threw yourself in your boss' arms after the earthquake, in front of many crew members in the studio's parking lot. 

"I guess I have to remind you that there are rules and they are made to be followed," she continues. "Your bosses may have selected you but anybody is able to do your job. You are easily replaceable. There is a list of hundreds of men and women who would be more than happy to occupy your place."

You gulp. Everybody in the room seems to have stopped breathing. You are probably not the only one who has sins on your conscience.  
"I know you think you are untouchable," she nearly spites, " but don't fool yourself: your actors won't stand for you. They have careers, marriages and reputations to protect and their job here is more important than you." She takes a pause, appraising the effect of her words on her audience. "Those of you who misbehave will be fired. On the other hand, the ones who denounce their colleagues' deviant behaviors are going to be rewarded. " 

The silence in the room is heavy, tense, full of fear and anger. You are afraid too. Maybe that's you she is talking about. Dean's friend, the one at the botanic garden, what if he talked about you to some people from the press? Or maybe it's Anna, the girl at the hospital. Maybe she really took photos of you and Dean, with his arm on the back of your chair. After all she thought you were his girlfriend and he didn't do anything to correct that fact. Maybe you'll be fired. You were about to quit the job a couple weeks ago, but now things changed, you surely don't want to leave. 

"There are millions of dollars involved in that production," Greta adds, "we can't afford to be distracted by stupid sexual scandals. We can't afford that our actors attract negative attention, begin to be the targets of paparazzi or other people that could blackmail us with compromising photos and stories. You are there to prevent your bosses from misbehaving, to be their discreet distraction. If you become the main element of misbehaving and trouble, you'll be removed without hesitation. You don't want your boss to suffer the consequences of your own behavior, do you?" 

Ryan leans toward you and whispers: "If she says the word 'misbehaving' again, I scream and shoot myself." 

You only nod. 

"Am I clear on this?" she asks you all. Nobody reacts. Everybody seems paralyzed by the meaning of that speech and all its implications. Though, she seems to be satisfied. 

"Of course, what I just told you can't leave this room and your bosses don't need to know about this conversation. This message is not directed to them but to you. You are strictly forbidden to tell them."

She wishes you all a good evening and leaves, leaving you all there, startled. 

Everybody hastens to leave the room as soon as possible to go home, not daring to look at one another… everyone but you, Ryan and Jess. 

"Oh my god ! I want to punch something… or rather someone… this female Nazi to start with. What she said was wrong on so many levels," Jess fumes clenching her fist in front of her face. 

Since the shooting day is over there are many members of the cast and crew walking in the hallway and the door of the room has been left open. Ryan puts a hand on Jess's arm. "I agree but we shouldn't discuss it here." 

"But …!!" your friend tries to protest, still upset. 

"I guess we'll be able to discuss it later tonight," you remind them to calm her down, "since we have that supper at Mr Brown's place."  
"I don't know if Grunta would approve of that supper," Jess growls. 

"She can't forbid us to have dinners between colleagues in a private house, can she?" Ryan protests. 

"I guess not, but we can't discuss it in front of our bosses, you heard what she said," you point out. 

"No, but we'll find a way," your brunette friend states, "I have to take it out or I'll explode." Staying quiet is not something she can do for long. But you understand her, you feel the same. In fact you're not sure you are able to get your head around what happened just yet. 

"See you later," you tell your friends as you collect your things. At this time of the day, Mr O'Gorman is already out of his costume and prosthetics and is on the way home. You check your phone as you head out of the studio. No messages from him. It seems he doesn't need anything. 

Though, as you cross the parking lot, your master's familiar voice hails you. "Hey beautiful !" 

"DON'T !," the word came out of your mouth quick, high pitched and nearly panicked. "Don't call me that !" you whisper-shout.  
He freezes on the spot. You mentally slap yourself when you see surprise and then a slight hurt on his face. "Oh…. okay… you're alright?" He asks you, unsure. 

"I'm alright !" you reply, but it sounds fake even to your own ears. You cough, uneasy. "It's just that… people can hear you!!"  
He looks around and cocks a brow, you are nearly alone in the parking, there is just a group of set designers but they are too far to hear you. You sound so stupid to tell him that. He knows you enough to know when something's wrong with you. You imagine his career destroyed because of you and you being fired, never being allowed to see him again. You can't let that happen. 

"We are still going to Adam's tonight? If you are not feeling well and don't wanna go I can always phone him, he won't be mad," your boss asks you. 

"No! No, I want to go," you reassure him. "I told Ryan we would bring the dessert. What do you think about chocolate brownies with vanilla ice cream and a raspberry sauce: simple yet tasty," you hasten to add, hoping that making plans for the evening would help him forget what just happened. 

"Sounds excellent," he smiles, rubbing his hands together. "We just have to stop at the supermarket, grab the stuff we need, go to my house to feed batman and get ready, and then head up to Ads' place." He takes his car keys out of his pocket. 

You don't move an inch, in an intense inner conflict. 

"Thanks for your offer but I'll get back to my flat on foot and take my own car," you state. 

He stops. "Why? I can give you a ride back home after the supper." 

"No, no, it's okay," you insist. "I will stop by a shop and grab the ingredients and join you at your place afterward." 

"We can go to the supermarket together then head-up right away to my place; this way you don't have to walk home." 

You look above your shoulder at the set designers. "But what if they see me getting in your car ?" you ask. 

He is clearly puzzled by your attitude but you cannot really explain to him why you're acting so weird. You hate it but you have to be careful now. 

"That wouldn't be the first time… " he replies, frowning. 

"But the people at the supermarket?" you add. 

"Well, they will see two friends buying stuff for a supper, that's not a big deal," he says and he seems to start being both suspicious and concerned. 

"I… I have to…," you have to find a good answer quickly, "I wanted to put on my blue dress, the one you bought me for the private party. I wanted it to be a surprise for you but it's at my place. I guess I'm busted now," you try with a shy smile. 

"Oh !" he says, smiling gently. "Nice ! I love that dress on you, you look beautiful. It's bringing back really good memories." 

"I'll see you in an hour at your place, then?" 

"Yeah, sure. " He rejoices and he waves at you before getting in his car. As you watch him leave, you ponder that even if you got yourself out of embarrassment this time, you won't be able to do it forever. You'll have to find a good plan. 

____________________________________

 

"You didn't have trouble with the dessert I hope!" Mr. Brown asks you, taking the plate out of your hand so you can take your jacket off. "Hm chocolate, it smells good!" he comments. 

"No, no trouble at all," you reassure him," at least if you don't count my dear boss trying to double-dip his nasty fingers in the mixture!" you smirk, giving your master a side glance. 

"Ew!" Mr Turner says, looking at Dean with a mocking disgust. 

The culprit takes his most angelic, innocent expression. "Me? Never! I don't know what you're talking about! "

"Don't worry, I saw him just in time, " you reassure your host. 

"She elbowed me violently in the ribs," the blond actor complains, "I'm all bruised. I didn't deserve that!" 

"You're so mistreated, poor thing," you tease, pinching his cheek. 

He turns his head away and snorts but he's smiling.

 

Despite what happened today, the supper is really nice and everybody drinks wine and chats happily. 

Aidan's strawberries, mint and bocconcinis salad is actually delicious. 

"Is there something you're not good at, Mr. Turner?" Ryan questions him, " acting, ballroom dancing, cooking, nursing… do you have other hidden talents?" 

"Haha," the Irishman laughs, "well thanks, but in fact there are a lot of things I'm useless at. For example, I'm singing like a goat. But Jess has a lovely voice," he says, smiling at his PA and leaning in for a kiss but she doesn't comply and turns away. He doesn't seem to be offended though. 

Everybody is a bit lightheaded because of the alcohol and some conventions and rules seem to be forgotten on the actors' part. They surely didn't have the speech you had today.

You see Mr Brown put his hand on the top of Ryan's that is resting on the table. It's really cute but you see Ryan flinching imperceptibly at the contact. He takes his master's hand, squeezes it lightly to make him understand he appreciates the gesture but he removes his hand right away and hides it under the table. 

"And I'll surely never have Dean's talent for creating such magic images out of a simple camera," Mr Turner adds. 

"Cheers, mate," Dean replies. 

"And me ?" Mr Brown complains jokingly. 

"Well…" Aidan muses," you have in incredible talent to make cute faces." 

"What!?" the Brit protests, trying to look offended as you all laugh," that's all I get !? Wow. Thanks, Turner, really!" 

"And you?" Ryan asks you, "do you have any hidden talent?"

"Hmm," you breathe, pondering. 

"All I can say is that she is quite good at giving massages," your boss supplies, making you turn red as a ripe tomato. You try to ignore the cat calls and the whistles that come from every side of the table. 

"Interesting, " Mr Turner smirks, resting his chin on his fist, his elbow on the table," tell me more about it," he asks you. 

"Not that kind of massage, Aidan, "your boss sighs. 

"I know exactly what you mean, Deano, it's just your pervert mind who thought I was insinuating stuff," he teases.

"She is also really good with animals," Dean adds, looking at you, "Batman fell in love almost right away." 

You smile shyly, trying to erase the blush still on your face. You feel his hand sneaking under the table to rest on your knee. You stiffen a bit but manage to not let it show. You are between friends, they all know what is going on with your boss, and they wouldn't betray you, would they? You cannot become completely paranoid, that's not sane. 

After the supper, the actors are in the kitchen, washing the dishes and the assistants end up in the living room, talking sotto voce.  
"The production really wants us to remember our respective positions: that we are not playing in the same league as the actors," Jess hisses. 

"Yeah, like the actors are gods and we’re ants," Ryan approves, "and the production can crush us under their feet whenever they want."  
"She literally told us that anybody could do our job and that we are not important at all and can be replaced by anybody with half a brain," your female friend bellows. "That's horrible what she told us! I never felt like I was a whore so much. It's like: be cute and shut up. She called us their 'discreet distraction'." 

"Well, that's what we are basically," Ryan remarked. 

"We aren't just that, " you object. 

"Well, true that. If they think we're not useful, then I should show them the five texts Mr Brown sent me last week to ask me when I would be back on the set as I had to leave to go to my dentist appointment. " 

"They should be paying me extra wages for every time I cheered up subtly in his trailer a very cranky Mr Tuner who didn't want to go back on set and do another take of a never-ending scene, " Jess adds. 

You think of Dean begging for hugs before starting his day on the set. "Yeah! We're filling them with endorphins, contributing to their good mood at work! That's gold! They shouldn't underestimate our importance." 

"And still they do." Jess thunders. "They think we're a bunch of nymphomaniacs whose only wish is to fuck actors and OH WOW, we are so lucky that they're kind enough to lend us theirs. That's how they act in our faces, but in fact, they are really happy we exist. "

"Well, they know they cannot lose, " Ryan sighs, lying down on the couch. "They win on every side. We can't denounce the way they treat us to the world: because at the same time, we would have to reveal the true nature of our work and nobody would have compassion for the mistresses and lovers. We have too much to lose in this and they know it: our jobs, our reputations, our masters. They are also playing on our sense of duty and our attachment toward our bosses and it's working. "

"They are clearly trying to play us against each other: divide and rule," Jessica sneers. 

"Grunta said that the ones who would denounce other colleagues would be rewarded, " you remember. "She was probably talking about money. You think some of the PAs are greedy enough to fall in this trap?" 

"I don't know," Jess ponders, seating on the opposite couch, "…probably. Or they would betray others out of fear of being accused themselves rather than for money. We have to consider every possibility." 

This fills you with such a bad feeling. It will be the war among the assistants.

"I would never do that to you guys."

"I know. Me neither," she agrees. 

"Me neither." Ryan echoes. 

"We have to stick together", Jess commands. 

"Exactly," the black haired young man agrees sitting and taking his glass from the coffee table. He raises his glass, "to our pact against evil."

"To our pact!" Jess and you repeat before taking a sip from your own glasses. 

You fall silent as Mr Turner steps in the living room, inviting Jess for a smoke outside with him. They leave and you stay there with Ryan. You take off your shoes and pop up your feet on the couch. You relax back on the couch's arm rest, your lower back resting on your friend's lap.

You heave a long sigh, your fingertip tracing absently one of the black lines of the Buddhist mandala tattoo he has on his left arm. "I'm afraid you know," you confide," I don't want to be fired. I know it's stupid but it's going on pretty well with my master and I want to enjoy it some more." 

"It's not stupid, hon," he says softly, "I feel the same. I really don't want to lose Adam, at least not now, not so soon. "

"You mean 'Mr Brown', right?" you tease him.

He snorts, "pfff, we're not at work right now, are we ?" 

"I'm kidding, Ry. I think it's cute, that's all," you assure him.

He smiles, lost in thought. It’s silent for a moment . 

"Can I ask you a personal question?" you ask him out of the blue. 

"Hm?"

"Do you love him?" 

"I don't know," he ponders, playing absentmindedly with one strand of your hair, "I think I don't want to ask myself that question. "

"You're afraid of what the answer could be?" 

"Yeah." 

"I feel you," you sympathize, even if for you it's too late: you already know the answer. 

"But I know he loves me and it makes me so afraid of breaking his heart," he explains in a whisper. 

"Really ? Oh… but you wouldn't. I know you, you are a good guy," you try to comfort him. 

"Can I tell you something, but don't tell anybody okay?"

"Sure," you assure him. This secret is safe with you. 

"I actually was his first."

You stay puzzled for a second, not sure if you understood well. "His first ? You mean that… he never… before?"

"He came out just recently, I mean, he admitted to himself he was gay not long ago, when he was hired to play in the Hobbit. It changed a lot of things in his life," Ryan explains, keeping his voice low. "So yeah, I'm the first he's with, the first he ever slept with. I'm just afraid he would get attached too much because of that and that he won’t be able to get over it when the shooting is finished and we have to part, when he has to go back to Britain and I have to find a new actor or actress to hire me. You know what I mean?"

You nod. 

"And if for a reason or another I'm fired under this new nazi regime, like Jess says, I'm afraid it would be a very big shock for him. I'm just worried for him. Do you worry about Mr. O'Gorman sometimes too or I'm just a big mother hen?" he wonders. 

You chuckle, "Do I worry ? 'All the time' is the answer. I think we are actually paid to worry. We want their success and their wellbeing. We are there to take care of them, we wouldn't do that job if we weren't caring persons," you muse. 

"You're probably right."

You fall silent again and you rest your head on his shoulder. You both know exactly what the other is thinking about, or rather who he is thinking about. 

Your reflection is interrupted by a slightly drunk and excited Adam. "We are playing poker, do you want to join us?" he asks you, mixing the card deck in his hands. You shake your head, you're tired and you don't think you would even be able to follow the game in the state you are. "And you, baby?" he asks Ryan, clearly forgetting that you're there and can hear the little endearment.

"Okay," his assistant agrees with a smile. You know can't say no to his boss. "Just give me two minutes." The tall young man heads to the bedroom and brings you a blanket and wraps you in it. 

You whisper a "thanks" before he follows his master to the kitchen. 

You lie down on the couch, curled in a ball in the plush blanket. You listen distractedly to the voices who joke and laugh in the kitchen, concentrating on your boss's and letting it lull you. You feel safe here with your friends, despite what happened today. Just to know that your Dean is in the next room, it's enough for you to be fine. 

You must have fallen asleep without knowing it because you open the eyes and your boss is kneeling on the floor next to the couch, touching your arm gently. 

"Sorry, I think I'm a bit tired," you mutter, rubbing your eyes. 

"That's okay. It's just normal," he says in a soothing voice. "After all it's your week day back on set and it's been a rather tough one. I'll bring you home, huh?" 

"Yes, you're okay to drive?"

"I had two cups of wine four hours ago, so yeah, I'm fine," he assures you. 

"Thanks Dean." 

"My pleasure."

________________________________________

"You're obviously too tired to drive," your boss remarks as you enter his house. " I can't let you take your car. How about you sleep here?" 

"Really ?" 

"I'll take the couch, I leave you my bed." 

"No, Dean, " you protest, "it's your house, I can't."

"Well it's my house, so I decide what I can and cannot do," he objects. "But I can also call you a taxi if you prefer. On the other side, I would like you to stay."

"Okay then…" you finally concede. "Can I just check my emails?" 

"No problems, my laptop is there. I'm going to take a shower." 

You get to the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water as you wait for the laptop to open. You get back to the table, open the internet and type your password. You take a sip of water but nearly spit it on the keyboard when you see that you have a new message but mostly, who is the sender of the message. You gulp and cough, opening the message reluctantly. 

_Mrs Y/LN,_

_You are convened to my office on Monday morning at 9 AM. Studio B, 2nd floor, office number 23._  
 _Greta Campbell, Public relations department._

You read it three times, but it's not a nightmare since you can't wake up. She wants to see you in private in her office. It can't be good. You sign out your email box and close the laptop flap. 

"Dean? Dean ??!" you call when you hear the bathroom's door open. 

"Yeah?"

"I need a hug right now !" you quake, pulling him against you and burying your face into the humid t-shirt that sticks to his still slightly wet skin. The happy butterflies you had in your stomach since your date at the garden are now replaced by monstrous black moths of anxiety.

"Are you okay?" he worries, returning the hug. 

"I… I just need courage," you murmur for only answer. Yeah. You'll need courage to face what could happen on Monday because you can't lose him. You just can't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the thousand persons who read each chapters. I'll probably never hear from all of you but if you like this story, I would be really glad to read your reviews. 
> 
> Thanks to be so loyal ! :)


	11. Busy Bee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're a very complicated man, Dean O'Gorman."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys! A new chapter, at last !! I'm sorry it took me so long ! I didn't abandonned this story, I just have less time to write.  
> Thanks to my awesome beta, the ever lovely chix of my heart : Katyushha. <3
> 
> Disclaimer: As always, this is a FICTIONAL work. It's only the fruit of my mind and has NOTHING to do with the real actors or their real lives and nothing to do with the actual way the production of this movie treated its employees. 
> 
> sorry for the waiting and I hope you'll like it ! :)

 

"I think the helmet you are searching for is just there," you tell Dean, pointing at a soldier's helmet lying on a cardboard box in the corner of the garage transformed into a photo studio.

"Oh! Thanks!" your master replies, hastening to fetch it. "What would I do without you?"

"You would still be searching for that helmet," you state, deadpan.

He doesn't reply but smiles as he places it along with the other soldiers' costumes on a table for today's photo shoot. You watch him in silence as he walks from one side of the garage to the other like a busy bee, gathering accessories and make up.  He has this slight smile on his lips and the little creases between his eyebrows. It's the face he makes when he is in a deep creative mood.  You keep wondering how someone can be both so concentrated and so distracted at the same time. You can't help but imagine his ideas like little fireworks bursting in your artist boss's mind. The flashes of light they create are so fascinating that it blinds him from what is actually happening around him in the real world.

"You should eat something," you tell him, trying not to sound like a mother-hen, "you haven't taken any breakfast this morning."

He doesn't seem to have heard you at all as he sets a new lens on his camera.

"I know I'm annoying, but as your assistant, it's my job to bother you," you insist.

"Sorry?" he asks, lifting his head from his camera to look at you.

You sigh. Sometimes you wonder if your biggest rival for the winning of Dean's heart isn't his darling camera. "Do you want something to eat?" you ask your friend again.

"No,  thanks.  You're kind but I'm not hungry," he says, "anyway the models are going to be here soon."

On cue, you hear the doorbell.  "I'm taking it," you tell him before he can move. You stand up from your chair and walk to the door of the house.

After you and Dean came back from the supper at Adam's last night, your boss asked you if you would like to spend your Saturday at his place and see him shooting the portraits of his photo series  about the Vietnam war soldiers. Of course you have accepted as long as you were allowed to help him, be useful and not just a passive spectator.

When you open the door, there is a very tall young man on the doorstep.

"Hi there! " he chimes with a large infectious grin.  

You never met him before but you recognize him immediately for you have seen him on your TV screen as Axl, the youngest of the Johnsons siblings. "You must be Emmett, " you greet him, returning the grin.

"I am! And you are?"

You introduce yourself. "I'm Mr O'Gorman's personal assistant," you add.

His smile widens if it's even possible. "Oh, it's you then…" There is something impish in the way he tells you that. "I heard about you. I'm glad to meet you at last. Is Dean there?"

"Of course, he is in his studio waiting for you" you tell Emmett as you let him in.

"I'm in Welly for a few days, I had an audition for a play and Dean told me he needed people for a photo shoot and since I know how good looking I am, I couldn't resist showing off a bit," he winks at you.

"I can hear that you're still your very modest self, bro," your boss comments as he walks in the room before dragging the other man in a bear hug. The size difference between the two men makes you smile. It makes your master's compact body seem so small in his giant friends' arms.

"I guess you already met my assistant," Dean tells his co-actor after they break the warm hug.

"Yes I did," Emmett replies looking from you to your boss alternately, like he's trying to figure out what's really going on between you two. You gulp quietly. It makes you a bit nervous. You already have to meet Grunta the nasty witch on Monday, it's not the time to fuck things up even more. Emmett is not from the Hobbit set, he probably doesn't know about the relations between assistants and their bosses. If he works on a big Hollywood production set one day he'll know, but now it's better for you and Dean that he stays unsuspecting.

"Come, I'll show you your costume," your master tells Emmett and they head up to the garage as you stay there, waiting to welcome the other guests.

 

***

One hour later, the garage is so full of people, and since Dean needs a fair amount of space to work, it's hard to move without stepping on someone's feet. There is, along with Emmett, a few of The Hobbit actors who accepted to pose as models. Aidan is there without Jess. Mr. Evans' assistant is a blond Australian guy named Felix who never speaks to anyone on set and constantly has his eye stuck on his iphone. Mr Evans has apparently chosen to come without him today. Mr. McTavish is accompanied by his assistant Stella and without surprise; Mr. Brown has brought Ryan with him.

Being busy helping Dean with the costumes, the makeup and the lighting helps you not to think about what could happen on Monday and you even manage to chase it from your mind as you chat and joke happily with Mr Turner, applying fake dirt on his face and his forearms.

You have just finished with Aidan's makeup when you hear Dean saying to Emmett, "I think you should smear more black on your face, I don't want you to look like you just bathed."

"I'm on it!" you reassure your boss. You want Dean to focus only on the shooting and not have to worry about technical details.

Emmett sits in front of you on a chair and he studies your face with a smirk. It makes you slightly uneasy but you don't want to let it show so you concentrate on what you're doing.

"When I'm finished with you, you're going to look like you just came from the battle field," you comment to break the silence between you.

"At least now it's not only my mind that's dirty," he teases.

That sentence takes you aback a little. Is it some kind of weird awkward flirting? Clearly he tries to elicit some kind of reaction from you. You can't figure out what he's trying to do or what he's trying to make you say.

"So… you and Dean, you're good friends as well as colleagues, yeah?" he asks you with that smirk still tugging on his lips.

You grit your teeth. So you were right. It is what he is after: a way to make you betray what's going on between you and your boss.  You're not going to give him this pleasure, though.

"We are good friends, yes," you reply confidently. It's not even a lie. You and your master are only friends now after all.  Maybe it's more of an at-some-point-I-won't-stand-it-anymore-and-rip-your-clothes-from-your-body kind of friendship but still a friendship.

"You live here in Wellington?" he asks you and you're relieved he has changed subject.

"Yeah, I live near the studios where we shoot the movie," you explain, adding a bit of mud brown on his throat.

"You're living with your boyfriend?"

You realize that he won't renounce that easily. "I don't have a boyfriend," you reply, choosing to be honest.

"Really?" he asks, looking at you in the eyes, " … a cute girl like you…"

You stop applying makeup on his face and lift an eyebrow, holding his gaze. All your expression is saying "why the hell are you telling me this?"  

"As I understood from what Dean told me, you guys spend a lot of time together," he insists.

You pinch your lips and pull a face, determinate not to answer his questions you judge a bit too personal for your liking. You peek above your shoulder to make sure nobody is listening to this conversation. Everybody seems busy elsewhere except Stella but the tall woman turns away when your gaze meets hers. You can swear she was observing you from afar. You don't want to become paranoid. Anyway she is too far away to understand what it is said between you and the Kiwi actor.

"Dean is a really great guy you know," Emmett goes on, "and he's single for quite a long time now. It's been at least two years since his last serious relationship. You two seem to have a great chemistry, that's all…."

"And you're his personal matchmaker?" you ask him, hoping your annoyance doesn't show too much in your tone of voice.  

 "Sorry," he apologies. "I didn't mean to be nosy and upset you. I just wanted to tell you that I think you're the kind of girl that he needs in his life and who can make him happy. If you have feelings for him, you should make a move."

You look at your feet. You're feeling guilty for your defiant behavior toward the young man. He obviously just loves his friend and wants the best for him : one thing you have in common. You look above your shoulder again, but this time, it's at your master that you're looking for a few seconds. His shoulders are relaxed, he is stepping back and forth as he snaps photos of Mr. Turner like it's a kind of dance. His voice is low-pitched, confident and warm as he gives his instruction to his attentive model.

You look back at Emmett and smile. "Thanks for the tip, Emmett," you tell him in a soft voice. " I can't tell the future but for now, Dean and I are just friends and it's fine with both of us," you assure him, wondering how true it actually is.

"Okay…" he breathes, tilting his head to the side. The disappointment on his face is both cute and heartbreaking.

"You're ready to go back to war, soldier," you tell him, reaching out a hand and helping him stand up from the chair.

While Emmett takes Aidan's place in front of the white background, you wipe sweat from your forehead. With all these people in the studio, it's quite hot in the garage now and your throat is dry.

You let Dean shoot few photos of Emmett and you approach him from behind.

"Dean, " you say softly, "can I speak to you for a minute?"

Your boss turns around to look at you. "Yes?"

"I think you should give your models a little break. It's really hot in here and I'm suspecting that everybody, you to start with, is on the verge of dehydration. I saw that you put beer packs in the fridge last night. I guess it was for today. Maybe I should go and get them, along with a pitcher of fresh water and glasses, what do you think about that?"

You watch his face. Dean O'Gorman, when he is the middle of a creation process, is like someone who is sleepwalking. He is there… but not completely. The body is there, the mind : not so sure. It takes him a few seconds for the information to sink into his brain and he finally nods. "Oh ! Yeah! That's true! I was about to forget about it completely!"

"I'm gonna get them, then?" you ask with an indulgent smile.

"Yes. Thanks. You're the best," he replies with a dopey smile and before you could react, he leans down and puts a chaste peck directly on your lips.

You stiffen and step back immediately. Your heart is pounding like crazy as you take a look around nervously.  Emmett is playing with his fake gun and nobody is especially looking your way, but it doesn't mean there weren't eyes on you a second earlier.

You look back at your boss and he is now looking at you with wide eyes, realizing what he just did.

"I'm sorry ! I'm so sorry !!" he mouths silently, looking miserably ashamed.

"Please… don't do that again… " you squeak weakly.

"I know, I'm sorry !!! It was a kind of reflex," he tries to explain but he falls silent and just stares at you, devastated.  

"I'm not mad. It's just…" you hasten to add but you can't let it out and you know your face is beet red.

"Yeah, I didn't…"

"No! I know that you..I…"

It's so awkward. You both want to apologize but cut each other and stutter.

"I understand. Let's just do like nothing happened, yeah?" he says quietly so only you can hear. "We'll talk about it later."

You know that when you turn around and leave the room, you probably look like someone who is running for your life because once you're in the kitchen; you hear Ryan's voice. "Are you okay?"

You lean back against the counter and hide you face in your hands as your friend joins you and puts his large hand on your shoulder.

 "Nooo" you whine, your voice muffled by your palms pressed to your face.

"What happened?"

You peek at your tall friend between your fingers. "He kissed me…"

Ryan frowns. "Mr. O'Gorman? He kissed you?"

You nod. You can tell him -- you trust him.

"You mean like…. just now?"

You nod more vigorously.

"Did Mr Skilton see you kiss?"

"I don't think so," you reply.

"That's not so dramatic, then. All the others are Hobbit actors or assistants."

"Yeah! They are people who can denounce me!!!! I think you don't understand," you complain, your arms falling both side of your body, "I got convened at Grunta's  office on Monday, I'm under her radar… I don't want to give her more reasons to fire me than she already has."

"Does she have actual reasons to fire you?"

"I'm thinking of one in particular," you confess, as you feel your heartbeat accelerating even more. "After the earthquake, my master came to the hospital with me. A lot of people saw us there, together, in the waiting room," you narrate. You also tell him about the girl who asked for an autograph and thought you were your boss' girlfriend.

"That's not an ideal situation, I grant you," he ponders. You can always count on him to be honest, but now you would want some reassurance.

"That's not all," you add, "Dean came with me the doctor's office," you sob dryly, biting as your lower lip.  

Ryan doesn't say anything this time and just pulls you into a hug.

"I shouldn't have asked him to come with me but I needed him," you add, resting your head on his shoulder.   

"I understand, honey, don't worry," Ryan tells you, rocking you gently. "I got an email from her too. I think she just wants to interrogate us individually. If you don't let her intimidate you it's going to be okay."

Suddenly you both jump as you hear somebody clear their throat behind you. It's Stella.

You break the hug and you look at her, wondering with a slight panic how much of your conversation she heard.

"I was wondering if I could get a glass of water for my boss," she tells you, her face not showing any special emotion.

You gulp. "I was going to bring some beer and water," you tell her with a forced grin.

She smiles, thanks you and takes her leave right away.

As soon as she is gone, you exchange a worried look with Ryan. From now on, you really should keep your big mouth shut.

 

***

"This one's nice, I really look like someone who's been broken by the experience of the battlefield," Aidan comments, pointing at the laptop screen from above Dean's shoulder.

"Hm yes, you're right," Dean approves, "I really love that one as well."

All the others are gone. There are just you, your boss and Mr. Turner in the living room. You are seated on the arm chair petting Batman and giving the poor dog some love since he was locked up in the basement all the afternoon.  Dean is on the couch and Aidan is standing up behind it, his upper body resting on the top of the backrest.

Suddenly, the boys start giggling at the same moment. "Jesus! What happened to my face!? I hope you'll delete that one!" the Irishman chuckles.

"NO!  I think I'll make a poster out of it and put it in the makeup truck at work!" Dean laughs.

"Come on, Deano! You can't do that," Aidan protests, "I look like I'm about to poop a big cactus!!!"

"Oh my god !! That's so true !!!!!"

They both burst in hysteric laughter until they are all red, in tears and out of breath. Mr Turner nearly collapses on the floor.

You chuckle, shake your head with a fond smile and stand up. "While you are consuming your bromance, I'm going to cook something," you inform the two laughing men. "You're staying for supper, Mr. Turner?"

Between fits of laughter and incoherent hiccups you manage to understand that Aidan will indeed stay for supper and that your boss is really pleased by your initiative.

You're searching in your master's fridge and pantry for anything edible and the actors leave to the garage to tidy up the remaining evidences of the photo shoot.

You are a bit desperate by the blatant lack of fruits and vegetable in your boss' fridge. You are not his mother but it's still your job to encourage him to have healthy habits.

After your quick inventory, you opt for pasta and alfredo sauce because it's the only thing you can cook with what you have right now.

Batman sits on the kitchen floor and watches you do, wagging his tail every time you pass close by. He is probably hoping you'll drop some food on the floor he will be able to steal. You have a hard time resisting the dog's imploring eyes, just like you can't resist his daddy's sweet ones.  

As soon as the pasta is drained and the sauce is ready, you give Batman a dog treat for his patience and you head up to the garage to call the boys for supper. The door is open and you can hear them chatting. You are about to step in when you hear your name. You stop. You shouldn't spy on them. That's not right. That's not what good girls do, but you just can't resist. You're dying to know what they are talking about. You rest your back on the wall next to the door and prick up your ear.

"So, this idea of platonic friendship, is it for real?" Mr Turner's voice asks.

There is a silence, Dean probably just nodded to reply at his friend's question.

 "God ! I thought you were joking !"

 "I wasn't."

"So," the Irishman begins hesitantly,  "you haven’t had sex with her since… since when exactly ?"

"About a month."

Aidan makes a weird sound, like a surprised huff.  "Jeezus ! How do you cope!?"

"I survive just fine. Apparently I don't have your bionic sex-drive," Dean snorts.

You feel your heart drop. He survives just fine… Does this mean he doesn't want you anymore? Surprisingly, you didn't expect it to hurt that much.

"Come on, mate," the brunet insists, "you know what I mean!  I mean, you are with her almost every day, sometimes you're alone together in your trailer…."

 "You're asking me how come I don't throw myself at her like an animal?" Dean snaps. "Well, it's because I'm not an animal."

"Can you stop negating all I say? I'm just trying to show compassion, here. All I'm saying is that it must be hard for you when you're sleeping next to her and all."

"Not that much, since we don't sleep together anymore."

You can hear a slight grief through Dean's voice. _Oh … my baby…,_ you think.

Once again, Aidan's disbelief is evident. " You… er… what? Really ? I thought it was in the assistant's non-official task definition to warm up our beds at least. I practically never sleep alone, and Richard either… nor Stephen now that I think about it… and Adam says he just can't sleep when he doesn't have Ryan as a pillow."

"Yeah ! Thanks Aid for reminding me what I'm missing!" your master grunts.

"Sorry ! Just pointing out the obvious," the Irishman defends himself.  "But you… you still have desire for her, right ?"

 Your fists tighten and you wait for your boss's answer, hoping it won't kill you.

"Of course I do !!! I would want her back in my bed already," he replies passionately.

Your hands relax and you smile.

"But this time I'm trying to think with my head, not my cock," he continues. "I'm trying to make it right. I know Jessica enjoys the idea of you two being each other's sex toys but my assistant is different… I'm different. I don't want to scare her away. Things are going pretty good these days and I plan to enjoy it and make it last as long as possible. I came close to losing her, Aidan. I don't want it to happen again. Hopefully, I can build something with her that has more chance to work until the end of the shooting."

He is afraid of losing you. You feel your heart burst with joy and all of a sudden you want to throw yourself in his arms and kiss him but you remember they aren't supposed to know you're there.

"Hm, yeah. I understand. It seems legit," Aidan approves.  "But don't tell me you're not freaking horny cause I won't believe you. We both know you're not a monk, nor a saint," he teases.

You bite your upper lip to supress a nervous giggle. Now this conversation takes an interesting turn.

 "You're right," Dean agrees with a smile in his voice. " I really miss the way she moans and her hips squirm to escape my hands' grip while I'm eating her out. "

A wild blush spreads across to your face to hear him say such filthy things. It's true though, you can't deny it. Just the memory of the sensation of his soft lips and wet tongue down there, the scratching of his beard on  the inside of your thighs, it's enough to create that pool of burning heat in your belly and to make you squirm unconsciously against the wall.

The Irishman doesn't seem scandalized at all and by the little laugh he makes, you realize that this is probably not the first time they have that kind of discussion, which is even more perturbing when you come to think about it.

"She doesn't look like it but she is a greedy little thing, isn’t she? " Mr Turner says with a quiet amused tone.

Your eyes widen and you clap a hand over your mouth because you're sure they can hear your breathing, heavy and shallow with embarrassment and… another sensation you don't want to acknowledge nor analyze right now. You feel ashamed of spying on them but at the same time, it's like your feet are glued to the floor and you can't go away.  

 "Oh yes. She is, in a good way, " your master agrees with something mischievous in his voice that makes your shoulders covering with goose bump. "God! You should see her, Aid, and hear her!! I'm a selfless guy, you know. Sometimes I just wanted to give her a nice orgasm. I didn't care if I didn't come myself, just wanted to take her apart…  but every time she was begging me to stop before I could take her over the edge because she wanted to have me inside her. She never wanted to come unless it was around my cock."

Now you can't deny it anymore. You're totally aroused, knowing that there are two rather gorgeous men talking about you this way, just in the next room. But it's mainly Dean you're thinking about – his beautiful body, the way you know he can take care of you utterly and completely, until completion and exhaustion, with his lips, tongue, fingers, cock.  All the lust you have tried your best to contain for the past weeks is conquering your body: sweet, warm and urgent.

 "Hm, yeah, that's really hot," Aidan comments in a low voice. "You are a lucky guy to be wanted like that."

"I can't believe you don't feel wanted with Jess!"

"Jess wants a dick, and I'm happy to oblige," the Irishman explains. "I know it's different with your PA. It's not just a cock she wants; it's yours she's craving for." 

"You think so ?"

" I do."

 "Yeah… actually it really feels that way," Dean says, and the smile is back in his voice.

 _Because it's exactly how I feel, love. I want you and you only_ , you comment silently. Maybe it's mushy but since you're alone with yourself in your head, you don't care.

 "I'm really glad for you, mate." There is a muffled sound, like Aidan is patting his friend's shoulder.

Dean sighs.  "Well, that's not like it's the case anymore…"

"But you're planning on inviting her back into your bed eventually, aren't you?

 "Like I said, I’m taking it slow.  I'll see how things evolve. "

Then, Aidan says something about one of the fake guns and the conversation changes topic as Dean starts to tell him an anecdote from his grand-father's experience during the Second World War. You understand that they won't talk about you any further. You take a few minutes to gather back your wits and you press your cool hands to your face, trying to erase the blush on your cheeks. When you think that you are presentable, you get into the garage.

 

***

"I wanted to say that I'm still sorry, you know… about the kiss." Dean tells you, handing you a cauldron he has just washed in the sink.

You take it and dry it pensively, staring at the towel in your hand not to have to look at your boss.

"I just stopped thinking for a few seconds," he explains leaning back against the kitchen counter and kicking some imaginary dust bunnies on the floor with the tip of his shoe. "It seemed so natural for a moment. You know. There was a time, not long ago, when it was a normal thing for me to kiss you whenever you were around and we weren't at work."

You turn away from him, open the cupboard and put the cauldron in it not to have to answer. You are torn between the want to reassure him and your anger. Your heart tightens a bit at his words.  He clearly regrets he had kissed you but you can't know if it's because he did it in public or if he just regrets the gesture in itself. Yes. There was a time, one month ago, when the taste of his kisses was familiar to you. When he kissed you this afternoon, it was very brief; barely a brushing of lips, but it transfixed you like a lightning bolt. Now that you think back about it, you feel tears misting your eyes. You can't really explain why you feel this way. There is a rush of contradictory emotions overwhelming you.  You wish things were less complicated. You wish you could just ask him to bring you to his bed and make love to you. No words, no talk, no apologies, no explanations…. just you, him, your bodies close to each other, legs and tongues intertwined.

You finally dare to look at him. "You know, I could be fired for less than that…" you tell him as you head up to the living room to collect your things.

He follows you with the expression of a kicked puppy on his handsome face. "You have every right to be mad at me. That's a mistake I won't repeat."

You sigh and turn around to face him as he takes his car keys from a shelf next to the door. "I'm angry because of the whole situation and the delicate position it put me in. We both know that if I violate rules the production can fire me and it's not what I want. I don't want to lose my job, and it's not because of the money."

You look in his big blue eyes, hoping he will get the message but he looks more confused than anything.

"I'm not mad at you, Dean," you add for emphasis, "I can't be mad just because of a kiss, not when it's what I want too."

 _Now it's your cue to kiss me for real, man,_ you encourage him in your head. But things in life are never as you expect or the way you want them to be because it's not a kiss you get but a tight hug. You return the hug and caress his back through his black t-shirt. He is not ready, or he has doubts.  He feels guilty probably. You can't really know because you aren't in his head. The whole situation, his hesitation, it could be frustrating… and it is, in a way. But you are in love, and hence, it gives you more patience and comprehension than you would normally have.  And by what Emmett told you today, it's been two years that he didn't have any serious relationship. He never told you about his ex-girlfriends. Maybe the last relationship he had ended in a particularly painful way for him. Either way, it's obvious that the gorgeous Dean O'Gorman isn't a man who gives his heart easily. You have one year and a half to win it, if you're lucky.  

"Thank you so much for your help today, you've been brilliant," he murmurs in your hair.

"Well, I hope you'll remember me when you are worldwide famous and your photography is exposed in the greatest galleries in New York," you tease.

He breaks the hug and looks into your eyes with a little smile, " trust me, I will." 

 

***

Night shoots are never the actors' favorite … and unhappy actors mean more works for their PAs. It's Sunday night and the actors are shooting in front of the big semicircle green screen outside the studios. It is probably the worst night they could have chosen to shoot this scene. It's really cold outside and almost everybody is cursing the weather and sulking… everybody but two young actors who seem to share some private jokes as the makeup artists are arranging their look before a new take.

"Tell me your secret," Ros grunts as she makes a chin gesture toward Mr Turner and your giggling boss.  She is standing beside you, rubbing her hands to try to chase the cold from her frozen fingers. You are shivering as well, despite your coat and the wool blanket you're wrapped in.  Instead of looking toward Fili and Kili, you peek at Mr. Armitage who stays in retreat from the others and seems to be in the hell of a mood.

"I didn't do anything special," you shrug, "it's the power of the bromance. It keeps warm apparently."

"Damn…" she sighs, "I thought you could give me some tips. I don't know what to do to cheer him up anymore tonight. I just gave up."

"Let him be then, I don't think there is much more to do," Jess supplies, "you did your job, you tried; now it's up to him."

  "Hm…" the red-haired scot woman ponders, clearly not convinced. "I'm going to fetch him another blanket, just in case it could help," she decides and walks away.

"TEN MINUTES BREAK!" Peter shouts through his megaphone.

As the good assistants you are, Jess and you take a look at your masters immediately, trying to figure out if they could need something during the break but they are laughing about something probably especially immature concerning Dean's prosthetic hands.

You smirk at Jess who rolls her eyes. They obviously don't need you. Your legs are stiff since you’ve been standing still in the cold for the last 3 hours, so you choose to take a walk together in the parking. You have just walked out of the center of the frenetic activities of the set when you notice someone who is seated in the dark, on the ground, half hidden between a huge plywood box that has probably been used to transport some pieces of the set from the workshop.

You tug on Jess's sleeve to make her stop and you point silently in the direction of the hidden person. You step closer and you realize it’s Mercedes, Mr Hunter's PA. The curly haired Mexican woman is always cheerful and kind with everyone. She is baking delicious cookies every week and gives some to all the assistants. But today, there were no cookies and you don't have to be a medium to see that she is distressed.  When she realizes she's being watched, she stands up in a hurry and even in the dark; you can see she is trying to dry tears from her face.

"Hey… what's wrong?" Jess asks her softly, stepping toward her in order to rub the back of her shoulder soothingly.

 "I… I can't… speak about it…" she stutters.

"You can't tell us because of Great Campbell?" you ask, keeping your voice low. Like any super villain, she may have spies everywhere.

Mr. Hunter's PA nods in silence.

"Enough with that!" Jess scolds." We have to help each other. If we begin to let her terrorize us, it's like we're agreeing with her."

Mercedes sniffles. "If I tell you, you must promise me not to tell anybody, not even your masters."

"Of course !" Jess replies and you promise in echo.

She looks at the ground, avoiding your gaze. "I'm two months pregnant," she blurs out, her voice breaking on the last word and the tears start rolling down her cheeks again.

You expected everything but not this. All of a sudden, it brings you back a few weeks ago, at the hospital, when Dr Perry asked you to run a pregnancy test and you thought "what if…" You can't imagine how panicking it would have been if it had turned out you were pregnant with Dean's baby. But the magical thought, the "it can't happen to me" takes a different and scary dimension when it happens to someone you know.

The first shock of the revelation passed, Jess puts an arm around the shoulders of the weeping woman, "Oh, darling…" she breathes in a compassionate tone. "Is Mr. Hunter the father?" she asks softly.

"Yes, he is," she hiccups.

"Does he know?" you question her, taking her hand and patting the back of it in a poor attempt to comfort her. You feel so helpless. You are certainly not the best to give advice in that case.

"He doesn't know. I couldn't bring myself to tell him," she whimpers, "I don't even know if I will keep it, and if I do, I will lose my job."    

Jess frowns. "They can't fire you for that! That would be plain cruelty," she argues.

"I don't know anymore," Mercedes says, her pitiful face breaking your heart.  "If I keep that baby, it'll grow up without its father. In one year and a half, Mr. Hunter and I will have to part. I'll have to go back to Mexico: my work visa expires at the end of the shooting… and you know the rules: we won't be allowed to have any kind of contact with our former bosses for three years."

You feel a lump forming in your throat. You're so selfish. You shouldn't be thinking about yourself right now. Her situation is really worse than yours. But even if you expected that the restrictions after the end of the principal photography would be something like that, to actually hear that you won't be allowed to see Dean anymore or even talk to him on the phone for three years is like a stab in the guts. You really should have taken the time to read your contract before signing it. You were too eager to work on the set to think about such details.  You realize now that you signed for your own heartbreak. But even if you'd known, would your decision have been any different? Probably not.

Jess doesn't seem to know what to say or do either. It's really not like her. She always has an opinion on everything. Obviously, she is at a loss for words as much as you.

"Maybe they will make an exception because of the baby…" Jess tries, uncertain.

There is a silence. None of you really thinks it possible. With Grunta in charge, you can't see that happening. This woman just doesn't have a heart.

"One way or another I'm in trouble," Mercedes cries, her Mexican accent thicker with the tears. "This is not the only thing I'm hiding from Mr. Hunter.  He doesn't know I'm already married either."

As you both stare at her in disbelief, she continues.

"I'm married to a man who still leaves in Mexico. We broke up one year ago but the divorce hasn't been pronounced yet. My husband is very religious and he doesn't accept the fact I want to get a divorce. The production doesn't know I'm married. Otherwise they would never have hired me."

It's a fact. Married people can't work as assistants. You remember it was one of the first questions you had to answer in the application file.

 "Now that I'm pregnant, if I choose to keep the baby, they will discover about my marriage one way or another and I'll be fired," she explains, looking completely exhausted and desperate.

You pat her hand again because it's the only thing you can do. "You should think about yourself first," you tell her gently, "do you want that baby or not?"

"If it wasn't from the job, would you have kept it?" Jess adds.

Mercedes takes a deep breath, lost in thoughts. "I think I would have," she finally says, "Stephen loves kids and I think he would be a great dad…. But I have a private meeting with Mrs Campbell this week. What am I going to tell her?"

"Nothing for now, " Jess replies firmly. "You are in no ways forced to tell her about your pregnancy. We all got an email from her, anyway. She just wants to scare us and get us to talk but we won't let her do that."

You nod. You agree with your brunet friend, even if Grunta really does scare you.

Mercedes shakes her head. "I could talk to protect myself, you know. We all could. I know things about other PAs. Things don't go so well between Mr. Brophy and Irina and I know that she is keeping compromising photos in her phone in case he would make her being fired, so she could send them to his wife. I also heard things about Mr. McTavish and Stella…"

"We all have skeletons in our cupboard," Jess cuts her, "Irina’s always been a bitch and I wouldn't be that sad to see her leave but if we start to play Grunta's game it will turn into a vicious war, exactly as she wants, and ultimately, the production is going to win over us anyway. They know they better keep us divided so we can't unify to denounce the unjust treatment they make us live in. They want us to stay cute and discreet little objects for their precious actors to play with."  

"Shhhhh," you whisper-shout to your friend since her speech was more fiery and passionately loud with every sentence. "I understand why you don't want to tell your boss, but I think you should talk to him," you tell Mercedes, "you didn't make that baby alone, after all. He has a part of responsibility in it. In the end it's your decision to take, but maybe he can help you through it."

"THE SHOOTING STARTS AGAIN IN TWO MINUTES, EVERYBODY ON THE SET, PLEASE" says Peter, his voice amplified by the megaphone.

"You're going to be alright for tonight?" Jess asks the curly haired woman.

"Yes, I think so," she replies, drying the remaining tears with the sleeve of her coat, "thanks for listening to me, girls."

"No problem," you reassure her, "you can talk to us whenever you feel the need."

Once you're back on the set, you are greeted by a smile from your favorite dwarf. You have a hard time returning the smile, still troubled by the conversation you just had. You wish he didn't read you like an open book. His smile falls almost instantly and is replaced by a concerned expression. "Is everything alright?" he asks you.

You force a more convincing smile this time. "Yes! You? You and Mr. Turner seemed to have a lot of fun between the takes," you say, trying to change subject.

"Haha, yeah. He is a dork," he says fondly as you scan his costume from wig to boots to be sure everything is in place for the next take. "Your boot lace is untied," you tell him, kneeling on the floor to fix it, "we don't want you to trip, do we?"

"I think if I tripped during a take it would make it to the DVD bloopers. I'm sure it would be quite funny," he states, being his laid-back self.

"Not if you get hurt," you groan.

He takes a look around then says, "I wouldn't be that miserable if I had a cute nurse to take care of my poor arse."

You retribute him with a slap on the side of his leg that makes him giggle. He isn't even ashamed, the bastard.  

 

***

"I think I'm going to sleep here," Dean tells you as you walk side by side back to the trailer park, "anyway we have to be on the set at ten tomorrow morning and it's already 3:00 in the morning."

"Speaking about it, I may not be able to help you tomorrow morning. I have a private meeting at nine with the PR Assistant Director for the non-acting staff," you inform your boss.

"Oh…do you know why they want to talk to you?" he asks, unlocking his trailer's door.

You get in the trailer as he keeps the door open to let you pass before him.

"I have no idea," you reply as he joins you in. You hate having to lie to him. It's not exactly a lie, though. You know what it may be about, but you have no idea how far she will push her interrogatory. You don't know if she only wants to warn you or if she actually has compromising information she could use against you.

"Tomorrow when you get on the set afterward, you tell me how it went, yeah?" he asks you as he removes his khaki green long sleeved t-shirt. "If they say they want to assign you to another actor, I might start a revolution."

You chuckle, pretending not to be checking him out. The sight of this beautiful expanse of forbidden flesh reminds you that you're constantly on the verge of horniness since the conversation you heard between your master and his friend yesterday.

"Do you need anything else?" you ask him, trying not to make it sound like an innuendo.

"No thanks, I'll just take a shower and head up to bed. I'm wrecked."

"Have a nice night, then," you tell him, grabbing your purse you left in his trailer earlier. You want to escape the scent of testosterone and temptation. Just as you're about to open the door, he calls your name.

You turn around.

Suddenly, there are hands on both sides of your face and lips on yours: soft, light and tentative. You melt and lean in the kiss instantly despite the surprise. He is about to pull back to gauge your reaction but you put your hand on the back of his neck to anchor yourself on him and prevent him from going anywhere else.  He lets out through his nose the breath he was obviously holding and relaxes. He tilts his head to the side and takes your mouth a little deeper but it's still quite chaste and gentle. It makes your breath hitch and your heart drum. You have missed this, missed it so much. You play with the tiny hairs on the back of his neck with your fingers, marvelling at their softness.

You break apart reluctantly after a while. You rest your forehead on his and close your eyes.

"You're a very complicated man, Dean O'Gorman," you murmur.

"I've been told so. I'm sorry about that."

"This kiss, was it only something you did out of habit again?" you enquire.

"No," he objects. " It was a thought out decision this time… in fact I couldn't think about anything else since the last one we exchanged yesterday afternoon," he whispers, petting your hair. "It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough."

"I would be lying if I said I didn't think about it today as well," you reply.  

 "That doesn't change anything in my plan to court you properly, you know" he says softly, his thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone.

"I'll be waiting for you and your white horse, then," you smile lazily, lifting your head to meet his blue gaze.

He smiles back.

"Good night, Dean," you whisper with a last caress on his naked shoulder.

"Good night," he says back before you open the trailer's door.

You don't feel the cold at all as you walk back home. There is still the sensation of Dean's lips on yours that warms up all your being. It's better than any blanket or any winter coat.  

 

***

You are still replaying the kiss in your head over and over again as you head up to Greta Campbell's office on the day after. You feel strangely serene. Dean's presence in your head is like a safe haven. It's almost like as long as you have him with you, on the back of your mind; it can shield you from any harm.

This sensation of invincibility doesn't last for long, though.  

You take the stairs and arrive on the second floor of Studio B. You immediately spot the office number 23 on your left. You haven't reached the door yet when it opens, but it's not Greta Campbell that comes out of it but Stella: Mr McTavish's assistant. When she sees you, she stops dead in her tracks and blanches.

"Morning…" you tell her, not knowing how to interpret her non-verbal language.

"I'm really sorry," she stutters…and suddenly you understand. It is guilt you read on her face. Before you can say something, she has already disappeared into the staircase.

As you turn around, you notice Greta, standing in the doorframe of her office. "Please, come in," she tells you. She is smiling. You never saw her smile before.

Somehow you know that it's not a good sign.

 

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the evil cliffhanger. It was getting a bit out of hand and I had to cut somewhere. But I already began writing the next chapter so hopefully it will follow soon.
> 
> Please, take 30 seconds to let me know if you liked it.


	12. Rat Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were a fool to think you could get out of this confrontation with Greta Campbell without a scratch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere in the land of cold and wind, there is a beautiful and smart princess : it's my awesome beta Katyushha. Thanks again, my love. 
> 
> Warning: the amount of fluff in that chapter may give you a sugar rush. 
> 
> Disclaimer: As always, this is a FICTIONAL work. It's only the fruit of my mind and has NOTHING to do with the real actors or their real lives and nothing to do with the actual way the production of this movie treated its employees.

 

You smile politely at the bus driver as he takes the ticket from your hand and scans it. He grabs your suitcase and shoves it in the compartment under the bus. It's a good thing you didn't have anything fragile in there. You climb the few stairs to get into the bus and choose a seat in the very last row. There are only a few people in the bus along with you; ten or twelve at most. Apparently, Palmerston North isn't a very popular destination, at least not at 1 PM on a Monday.

You look at Wellington's bus station through the window for one last time before the bus starts moving. You're not really listening to the driver's voice that informs the passengers how long the trip is going to take. You don't care. It can take one hour or 3 days it doesn't change the fact that you're leaving Wellington and that every kilometer this bus travels through is another kilometer that separates you from your lover.  There is a teenager a few rows in front of you who is humming out of tune along with the music he's listening through his headphones. You want to smack him behind the head to make him shut up.  A cold rage is boiling in your veins. You were a fool to think you could get out of this confrontation with Greta Campbell without a scratch.

About twenty minutes after the bus left Wellington, you feel your phone buzzing in your jeans' pocket.  Of course, it's a text from Jess. Giving that she is the one who is supposed to replace you, it's logical that she gets to know the news first.

Her text is laconically blunt and totally Jess' style, it goes:" What the effing fuck!!!?"

She has every right to be mad. You can understand. She had to do the work of two assistants during your recovery and after only one week that you're back on set, she learns that she has to work for two bosses again for god knows how long.

You open your keyboard application and type a quick answer: - I know. Sorry :( -

Your phone stays silent for a few minutes before you get a long reply.

 1:26 PM-JESS- : I'm not angry with you, bb. But this is real shit for both of us. I'm heading back to the set right now. I'm supposed to break the joyous news to your boss. I guess he won't be happy either. How am I going to tell him?

You stare at your phone for a moment. Of course, just like her, you apprehend Dean's reaction. You already had an argument with him. He may be a patient man, he doesn't let people step on his feet without saying anything. There is a ferocious warrior inside your gentle lover.

You take a deep breath and hold it as you type: -Okay… 1. Just tell him it wasn't my decision to leave. I don't want him to make up ugly scenarios in his head. 2. Try to prevent him from doing anything impulsive. 3. Tell him I'm gonna call him tonight and explain."

 -1:33 PM –JESS-: When you say 'doing something impulsive, does it imply throttling the person who ratted you out? Because tbh I might just do it myself. Who was it?

You ponder for a moment whether you're going to tell her or not. You're angry with Stella, it's true. But what's done is done. You can't uncrash the train once it's crashed. Plus, there is the fact you don't want Dean to know about it. He's a good friend of Mr McTavish and you don't want to be the cause of friction between them.  

"-It's not important anymore," you type back.  

-1:34 PM – JESS-: Never mind, I'm gonna discover it by myself, then.

You shake your head. They say that dwarves are the most stubborn creatures. Clearly, nobody in Middle-Earth ever met Jessica Summers.  You don't reply to her last text. There is nothing you can say that could make her change her mind once she gets an idea in her head. Several minutes pass without any new messages so you put your phone back in your pocket.

You curl up in your seat, as if this gesture could cut you from the world around. It fails to give you the comfort you need. You rest your forehead against the cool glass and sigh, looking at the landscape but not able to appreciate the beauty of it.

***

_3 hours earlier…_

 

"How old are you?" Grunta asks you, tapping the tips of her manicured nails on her desk in the most irritating manner.

You clear your throat, trying to erase the lump in your throat without success and answer her question.

"Hm. We both know it is old enough not to need any guidance to go in the doctor's office. You could clearly handle the situation without involving Mr O'Gorman."

You grit your teeth with indignation. Did she really tell you that? She is looking at you, her eyes narrowed like the falcon about to pounce on a prey and waiting for you to justify yourself.

"I was injured! " you protest, " Mr. O'Gorman only wanted to help!"

Obviously, she would have none of it. "That doesn't justify the fact you accepted his offer and the fact you went into the doctor's office accompanied by him. Normally, it's the role of members of the family or of a partner and I don't recollect that Mr. O'Gorman was related to you.  It doesn’t help your case either that it happened in front of several people including one fan who had recognized Mr O'Gorman. You weren't injured enough to need an ambulance, it means that you could've called a taxi to go to the hospital. And I'm not even counting the fact that just before you left with Mr O'Gorman, members of the staff saw you sharing a rather intimate moment in the parking. You can't deny it; I talked to people who saw you."

You clench your teeth, holding back tears of anger. You can't say anything. It's not that she was inventing things that didn't happen. It is quite clear that it's Stella who revealed that information to her. You remember now that she was there, in the parking, when you had thrown yourself in Dean's arms. She was talking to Jess not far from you when Aidan had come to talk to you and your boss. And because you couldn't keep your mouth shut and you confide what happened at the hospital to Ryan, she had probably overheard your conversation and got the elements she was missing to rat you out and protect her own interests.  You cannot help but wonder how much money she's going to get for that. The day of the earthquake, you were so relieved to see that Dean was fine that you didn't pay any attention to the consequences this simple hug might have. Now you're paying the price. It's all so unfair it makes you want to throw up. Obviously, Grunta doesn't care that you were in shock, injured and vulnerable, that you needed comfort and assistance.

"And what now? Am I fired for having hugged my boss?" you sneer, your nostrils flaring with anger.

"Well, that's what I would've done if I was alone to take the decision, "she begins, "but I know my superiors wouldn't have approved. Since that fan from the hospital's waiting room obviously didn't sell her story to any magazine, what you did cannot justify a dismissal. "

Before you can heave a relieved sigh, she hastens to add:  "that doesn't mean there won't be consequences." She takes her numeric pad from the side of her desk and flicks her finger on the screen a few times.  "You're going to be expelled from the set for a while. We have an office in Palmerston North: they do paperwork for us. Mainly, they are planning the logistics for the transportation of material and staff for the shooting on locations. You're going to work there for a while. You're leaving today. In fact, I called you a taxi that will wait for you in front of your flat in one hour and a half and will drop you at the bus station. "

It takes a few seconds for the information to sink in. "For how long am I supposed to be gone?" you ask coldly, "and what about my boss?"

"I haven't decided yet for how long you're going to work there. I'll let you know," she replies on the same tone, not even bothering to look at you, "and Miss Summers managed just well while you were injured. I'm sure she can replace you again while you're gone."

You clench your fists behind your back as your stand up. You want to leave this office and this horrid woman as soon as possible.

"At least, can I have a few minutes to go on the set and say goodbye to Mr. O'Gorman?" you ask her in a bitter voice.

She bothers to lift her gaze but it's only to look at you with a cocked brow, like you have suddenly gone insane.  "And disturb him while he's working? No need, I'm taking care of everything. Instead, I suggest that you go back home and pack your things while you still have time," she tells you. She looks back at her pad and it's like you don't exist anymore.

You don't even try to fake any sign of politeness and you just leave her office without a word.

***

"I'm sorry, the room is tiny but it's the only one we have in the building. We usually lend it to temporary employees like you," explains Alexandra, the girl from your new office. Grunta had charged her with the task to welcome you but she doesn't know the real reason why you are here.

Alexandra turns on the light and you can only observe the truth of her description. The room is indeed very small and dark since it's in the basement and doesn't have any window. With its plain cement walls painted with a grayish green color, it looks like a prison cell.  

"The toilets are at the end of the corridor," she adds, "nobody will bother you here since no one ever comes in the basement."  

"Great," you reply without enthusiasm.

"I'll let you settle down, yeah? When you're done, join me in my office, I'll explain to you what you'll have to do," she tells you with a smile, fortunately not taking any offense from your gruff behavior.

Once she is gone, you fall on your back on the hard mattress of the narrow bed, not bothering opening your suitcase to put your clothes in the little two drawers' nightstand.

You place your hands under your head and look at the ceiling. You wish nothing of it happened. You wish you were on the set with your dwarf and your other friends, not here: alone, in a dark, cold basement god knows where in New-Zealand.  

"It's really great that the principal office sent you, " Alexandra comments when you get in her office ten minutes later, "we didn't have anyone yet to handle the case of the toilets rental."

"What?" you ask, completely puzzled before she explains that your job consists of calling the companies in New-Zealand that rent portative chemical toilets and get arrangements with them to have the toilets delivered on the sets when the actors are going to shoot on the locations.

You try not to think about how boring your week is going to be. You get to work and start making some calculations to try to determine how many toilets are going to be needed for each location giving the number of people from the cast and crew who are going to work there. It turns out to be more complicated than it first seemed and by the end of the afternoon, you manage to get a headache.

You cannot help but remember that if you weren't here, you'd probably be seated in your boss' trailer, helping him learn his lines while sipping tea. Or maybe you would be providing your dwarf prince other kinds of entertainment. You shake your head, take a long gulp from your water bottle and rub your eyes. It's really not the appropriate time to think about trailing kisses along a stubbly jawline when you're stuck in the exciting world of porta-potties.

The day finally ends and you retreat to your prisoner cell in the basement. All the other employees have left except the security guard who's there at night. The building is awfully silent, apart from an old heater that makes you jump every time it gets started. It's nearly creepy and it participates in making you miss the comfort of your flat or Dean's house.

 Alexandra gave you your own key so you can come and go as you want and you could have gone out to find something to eat but you really aren't hungry. Since you have access to the building's wifi, you could also be wasting time on the internet but you don't feel like doing anything except curling in a ball under the bed's covers that stink of disinfectant. You know it could be dangerous (and a bit weird) to keep photos of Dean on your phone but nobody ever said anything about pets. So, your occupation right now, apart from hiding under the covers, is looking at your photo file of Batman. Maybe it's really childish and irrational but you feel so lonely and lost. Your eyelids start to sting and soon, tears are rolling down your cheeks.  Of course, it's the moment your phone chooses to start ringing.

When you see Dean's name flashing on the screen, you clear your throat and dry the tears from your face, like he was able to see them through the phone. He doesn't have to know that you’ve been shedding tears over his dog's photos, homesick like a six-years-old on her first night in a summer camp. 

"Hello, Dean?" you say with a voice you want confident and strong but that comes out small and pitiful.

Your boss is no fool. "Babe!? What's going on? Are you crying?" he asks.

The relief that washes over you when you hear his voice and the little endearment makes you let out a little hiccup that betrays you. "I'm fine," you manage to say.

"Please, be honest with me," he insists gently.

"I'm fine, I swear. I'm just happy to hear your voice," you reply sincerely. He wants honesty? You can't be more honest than that right now.

"Aw, I'm really happy to hear you too," he replies with a warm voice. "But I'm still really confused about what happened today. Where are you? Jess told me the production moved you to another job to punish you. I'm not sure I understand what's going on. She said you would explain to me. Why did they do that? What did you do? You can tell me, you know. I swear I won't be mad at you, whatever it is. "

You smile despite the fact your vision gets blurry with unshed tears again.

 Grunta made a mistake. She never told you that your talk with her was confidential. Thus, you can tell everything to your boss. You choose not to get into the details but you tell him you were expelled from the set and moved to Palmerston North indefinitely because of your indiscretion after the earthquake.

"What the hell ?!!" Dean thunders, "you were injured for f**k sake! It was my duty to take care of you! I couldn't leave you like that. It was MY decision to bring you to the hospital! I was the one who asked you if you wanted me to come with you to the examination room. They can't hold it against you!!!!"

"Yes. They can, Dean, " you object bitterly. "As an actor, you are untouchable. It's me who should have refused your help because it is my responsibility to keep our relationship a secret."

"Ew… that's like… so unfair… and super sexist…" he observes.  

"In a way yes, I guess," you reply, "but it would've been the same if it was Ryan and Mr. Brown."

"I can't let you suffer the consequences of my own decisions," he decides, " I can't let you do that. You don't deserve to be treated like that."

"That's sweet of you but we don't have much choice," you sigh. "I won't die. I'll be fine.  I guess that if I behave, they will allow me to get back on set soon… I hope."

"Do you have somewhere comfortable to stay at least?" he worries. "Where are you? Are you staying in a hotel room?"

You look around at your horrid exiguous room. "Er… I'm fine. I'll survive. Don't worry for me."

"Okay," he replies but he doesn't seem convinced at all.  "I have… something to do but I'm going to call you in about an hour, is that okay?"

"I'm not going anywhere," you state in a sigh.  

"Perfect; talk to you later."

It seems that the call is over even before it began. You would've liked to talk to him longer but apparently, he has more important things to do. You tell yourself that you can't expect to be his number one priority after all. You lie in your bed for a while and despite your bad mood, you nearly fall asleep.

 You don't really want to leave your room to face the spooky atmosphere of the desert building but your need to pee is stronger than your reluctance. You close the metal door of the bedroom behind you and head up to the end of the long corridor, your phone tucked in your clenched fist and pressed on your heart. The only thing you can hear is the sound of your steps echoing on the white walls. It becomes darker and darker as you get closer to the door at the end of the corridor. When you finally reach it, you open it but it's not the toilets you find but another corridor that disappears in the dark to your left. With the fade light that comes from behind you, you can see a sign on the wall with pictograms indicating the direction of the toilets on your left…. where there is absolutely no lights. You pass your hand on the nearest wall but you don't find any switch. You use the light of your phone's screen. You take a deep breath and with your phone as the only light to pierce the veil of darkness and guide your way, you take the direction of the restrooms.  You ponder that you probably look like the stupid girl who always dies first in the horror movies. You heave a sigh of relief when you finally reach the bathrooms and turn on the light.

As you come out of the toilets, you hasten to get back to your room as soon as possible, your heart beating fast and your palms moist. " _Come on_ , _calm down_ " you scold yourself in your head, " _what could possibly happen to you here?"_  You get to your room's door but when you try to open it, it seems stuck. You pull and push on it but it doesn't move an inch. You fiddle with the handle, cursing. You probably locked it without meaning to and your keys are still inside.

Someone clears their throat behind you. You jump and let out a strangled cry. There’s a bald middle-aged man with a navy blue uniform: the security agent.

"Sorry Mam', is everything okay?" he asks you.

"My…the… the door, I can't open it," you stutter.

"Let me see," he says calmly. He takes a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocks it. "You should keep your keys with you when you go out," he advices you before wishing you a good night and leaving.

When you get into your room, your heart is still drumming crazily like the one of a scared rabbit. The security agent was nice, he helped you, but you can't help but imagine what could have happened if he hadn't been nice. He could have done whatever he wanted with you and in this empty place, no one could've come to your rescue… no one would have heard even if you had screamed on the top of your lungs. You sit on your bed and rub your sweaty hands on your face, trying to get yourself to calm down.

A few minutes later, your phone rings. At least, it seems that your boss hasn't forgotten you.

"Hello gorgeous, it's me again," Dean says as you pick up.

You greet him back, trying to erase the slight shaking in your voice. You curse yourself mentally for being such a little girl but you need him so much right now.

Your boss says something else you can't understand it because there is another sound that you can hear through the phone, a loud one, like a truck passing by. You swear you can hear cars in the background too. You frown.

"Dean? Where are you?" you ask, unsure.

"I'm at the gas station, I'm filling the car's tank in case you would agree with my plan," he explains.

"What plan? Sorry, I didn't hear what you said before."

"I said that I would like to come and see you tonight if you want," he replies.

You feel your heart burst with joy and hope. Of course you want to see him, but your assistant reflexes are stronger.  Your rationality and your common sense tells you that it's a very bad idea but it's painful to turn him down when you know how good you would feel against his body, his strong arms around you.

"Oh Dean, no… don't… I mean, you are shooting tomorrow, it's already late and Palmerston North is like two hours from Wellington. You shouldn't come."

"One hour forty five minutes to be accurate," he corrects you, "but really, I don't care about the shooting tomorrow, I'll drink more coffee that's all. I feel really bad that you have to be there because of me but that's not the first reason why I want to see you. I want to talk to you other than over a stupid phone. I want to be with you even if it's only for a few hours… if you want to be with me too…"

You bite your lower lip. It's just not possible to resist that man. "Of course I want to see you too," you reply. There is no way you would refuse him something like that.

"I just checked on internet and there is a McDonald’s not far from where you are, on Ferguson Street. We could meet there around eleven if you want, " he suggest.  " We will be discreet I promise,"  he adds.  

"I don't know where it is," you say in a small voice.  

"Do you know where the Plaza Shopping center is?"

"No, Dean! I'm not even sure where I am right now!" you reply, still on edge from your stressing encounter with the dark bathrooms and the security guard. "I don't know the city at all!" you protest, suddenly feeling close to tears again. Why do you have to be such a crybaby and make a fool of yourself?  

"Hey… hey… That's okay. That's alright," he reassures you gently, "Let me just check on my phone for directions, yeah? I'll explain to you how to get there. "

"Okay…" you agree.

"You're still there?"

"Yes."

"When you're outside, on Ferguson Street, technically you should see a Burger King not far from there. Walk in that direction down the street and at some point, the McDonald’s will be to your left," he explains with his calm deep voice. "You're going to be okay?"

"Yes, I think I will."

"I’ll call you once I'm there," he adds.  

"Okay."

"I won't be long, promise. See you later. "

***

It's raining outside: a cold winter rain. You have put on a sweater and a jacket but you soon realize it won't be enough… and you don't want to go back inside to grab a coat. You are punished for your laziness because the McDonald’s is farther than you thought and half way there, you're already soaked and shivering.

There are only a few people in the fast-food and the cashier seems about to die from boredom. You don't order anything, too exhausted and nervous to swallow food or any drink. You take a seat next to the door and pretend to read the New-Zealand Herald but in fact your eyes are shifting now and then from your phone to the parking outside the window.

About ten minutes later, your heart jumps slightly when you spot a man under a black umbrella, his face hidden in the shadow of the hood of his green hoodie. You don't need to see the golden hair and the blue eyes to recognize your boss.

You don't hesitate a second, you get out of the restaurant and jog toward him.

"Hey," he breathes, catching you with his free arm and pulling you against him. You hug him back, your arms around his mid-section. The intensity of the relief you're feeling is hard to describe. He presses two kisses to your temple and hums.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty?"  he asks you.

 _You're the only thing I need_ , says all your body language but it's not what you choose to reply. "Not.. really… just cold. Anyway, it wouldn't be a good idea to be seen here together, or at all."

It's so stupid that you have to hide like you were criminals or spies. The thrill of secret relationships is very overrated. It may seem exciting at first but you're really tired of it now.  You're not even allowed to take a coffee together in a freaking McDonald’s.  A simple walk in a park hand in hand with your lover is something you will never be allowed to do. But right now, under his umbrella, in the darkness of the rainy night, you can snuggle a bit. He keeps you close to him as you press the tip of your cold nose on the hot skin of his neck. He probably took a shower just before leaving because the minty scent of his shampoo is still strong.

"You're right, better stay subtle," he concedes.  "We can get in my car, then," he offers, letting go, "we can't stay here or you're going to catch a cold."  

You nod and shiver.

As soon as you get to his car, he opens the back door for you and you get in as he goes to the boot of the car to fetch something. He sits on the back seat next to you and hands you a plastic bag. "It's a little gift for you. I'm sorry; I didn't have time to wrap it properly. I wanted to give it to you last night to thank you for your help during the photo shoot but I got… distracted… by our kiss, " he explains, averting your gaze with a goofy grin.

"Aw, sir, you shouldn't have," you smile as you open the bag. It's a very thick plush warm blanket. You pet the fabric, marvelling at its softness. "It's a very appropriate gift," you observe, "thank you Mr. O'Gorman."

"Call it intuition or anything you want," he winks. He helps you out of your soaked jacket and sweater and wraps you in the blanket, rubbing your arms and shoulders through it in an attempt to warm you up. You're slightly embarrassed and you hope he didn't notice your perky nipples, pointing through your bra and your cold humid t-shirt. You pull on the blanket and tighten it around you. You were under the rain for a while and despite the blanket, you won't warm up immediately.

"Would you mind if I held you in my arms for a bit? It could help warming you up, " Dean suggests.

You roll your eyes with a smile and snuggle on his lap. He closes his arms around you.  “There, girl. You'll feel warmer in a few minutes, "he assures you.

You chuckle, shaking your head. "You're really cute, you know that right?"

"What? What did I do?"

"Asking me if I would mind being in your arms…"

"Well, we are in the dark, in my car, I'm your boss," he enumerates in a serious voice, "I don't want you to feel like I'm taking advantage of the situation."

"I'm not feeling that way. May I remind you that we already slept together?  A hug isn't a big deal."

He lets out a little low laugh. "Yeah, you're right."

"Unless," you begin, running a teasing finger on his bearded chin," you really plan to take advantage of the situation." You give him a seductive smile from below as you rest your head on his shoulder."  

 

" _Well woman the way_

_The time cold_

_I wanna be keepin' you warm_

_I got the right temperature_

_To shelter you from the storm,_ " he sings with a smirk.  

 

You burst in laughter and raise a brow. "What was that?"

"I'm wooing you with my best poetry featuring Sean Paul. What do you think about it?" he says, mirroring your expression.

"Hm, that was an honorable attempt, for sure," you reply, trying to repress a giggle.

"Wait, I didn't sing yet the part that says :' _I got the right tactics to turn you on, and girl I want to be the papa_ _you can be the mom.'_ If with such poetic words you aren't swooning already, then I don't know what to do anymore,"he tells you with a mocking grin.

"Wow ! That's … er…," you comment, your shoulders shaking with contained laughter.

He snorts with faux annoyance. "Pfff, if you saw me singing it in a garden under your window with my ukulele, you wouldn't be giggling like that."

You lie on your back on the seat, your head pillowed on his thigh. "No, you're right, I would be laughing my arse off," you object. Your boss is the cutest dork in New Zealand and you pray that no matter what happens it never changes.

"Perfect then," he says, suddenly serious all over again. He reaches a hand and cups your face, running his thumb over your jawline, "I love it when you laugh." There’s something really tender in his eyes that takes your breath away.  "Let's make a deal, okay?" he offers.

"Okay," you agree, curious to know where he is going.  

"I stop being overly polite and ask you if I can breathe around you, and in exchange you leave the 'sirs' and the 'Mr O'Gormans' at work once for all."

You smile. You can live with that. It's the sign he wants you to be more intimate with each other. "How do you want me to call you:  'Your majesty'?" you chaff.

He pulls a comic face. "'Dean' will be just fine."

You blush when a sudden idea crosses your mind. "Can I… can I call you 'babe'?" you stutter, embarrassed to even have this idea.

You're rewarded by a loving smile. "I would be honored."  He buries his fingers in your hair. He massages your scalp and scraps it gently with blunt nails. You reach a hand out of your blanket and intertwine your fingers with the ones of his free hand. The warmth you’re feeling right now has probably nothing to do with the blanket.

"You're feeling comfortable with me?"  he asks, still playing with your hair.

You smile. "I feel at ease and safe for the first time since I left Wellington. It reminds me of the first time we kissed. It was here, in your car."

"Yes… how can I forget? I was so nervous. I was about to kiss my super cute assistant and I didn't know how she would react."

"You still don't seem to know," you point out.  

"Well, that's true.  You’re a bit of a mystery to me. But I think mainly it's because I'm afraid of fucking things up," he explains with a sour expression.  

"I guess it's time we stop beating around the bush," you point out, squeezing his hand gently. "You need me to tell you how things are, as bluntly as possible, do you?"

"Hm… depends," he ponders, looking at you from above "Do you think I can handle the truth?"

"I think you can."

"Shoot, then."

"You, Dean Lance O'Gorman, are driving me crazy," you say in a decided tone, straightening of the seat to be at his eyes level. He keeps his hand gently placed on the back of your head and listens to you attentively.  "First time I saw you," you go on, "I knew I had hit the jackpot with you as my boss. I had a hard time keeping my composure. It's true that, at first, I was afraid. Things happened really quickly but I enjoyed every step of it.  I never felt forced to do anything I did with you. I still want you. I never ceased to want you all along, even when I was mad at you. And now all I want is to share your bed again and I know you want it too. I heard you say it."

His loving expression shifts suddenly to a puzzled look.

"I kind of…overheard your conversation with Aidan," you confess, blushing.       

"Oh." he simply says and he looks surprised for a moment before his face changes into a mocking disproval frown: "You spied on us! You little imp!" he scolds you but he doesn't seem to be really angry with you. A second later, he looks more ashamed than everything else. "God! You must've thought that I'm nothing but a rude douchebag!" he breathes.  

"I didn't," you reassure him, "I was surprised that Aidan and you were that close that you could discuss such intimate matters so freely, but knowing you both, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised."

He worries his lower lip between his teeth. "Are you angry with me?"

"I am indeed very angry, " you tease, "but just keep the "y" and change the 'a.n.g.r.' to 'h.o.r.n.'"

He raises his eyebrows: "You're…" he hesitates, then, his smile widens, "it made you horny?"

You roll your eyes but you can't help the grin on your face. You change your position and you sit boldly on his lap, your knees both sides of his thighs. "Just kiss me, Dean," you demand.  His grin matches yours, but slowly the smile fades away and changes to a more hungry expression. His lips part slightly in a little sigh of anticipation as his gaze goes down from your eyes to your mouth.

The manly hand behind your head slips down to the back of your neck. "With pleasure," he murmurs before he pulls you toward him, closing the distance between you.

They are back in your stomach:  the joyful butterflies, but there are not just butterflies in your body, there is a purring panther that very much wants to be petted and needs all the attention of its male right now. Dean seems to feel your eagerness because the kiss grows more passionate very quickly. His tongue has already conquered your mouth and has made it its kingdom. He kisses you like he wants to take everything but it's still very sensual and it sets your body on fire.  His hands travel down and under the edge of your top to caress your waist and your hips under your clothes. When you do the same, craving to touch his skin, he flinches as your fingers probably feel very cold on the hot skin of his stomach. He chuckles in the kiss softly but he doesn't pull back. You run your hand up on his chest, lifting his green hoodie up, and you let it rest on his left pectoral.  You feel his heart beating fast under your hand like the one of a little rabbit. As you caress his chest, marvelling at the softness of the flesh and the hair, your fingers lingers on a perky nipple. He moans in your mouth and bucks his hips up as a reflex which makes you heave a shaky sigh when you notice his hard on through his jeans.

He breaks the kiss and whispers, panting, "We're not really good at staying just friends, are we?"

"Nah, we're awful at it, obviously," you smile back.

He claims you mouth again and puts such joy, enthusiasm and desire in that kiss that you can't help replying with the same intensity. His warm palm rubs your back up and down under your t-shirt and at some point, in a swift experimented move, he undoes your bra. You throw your arms around his neck and you circle his hard hips with your legs as he moves aside to lay you down on your back on the car seat. You're half tangled in the warm blanket you couldn't care less because your arms are very full of a gorgeous Kiwi.  His lips, tongue and teeth have now left your mouth to have their wicked way with your neck. Your hands hold on to his shoulder blades and your legs tighten around him. You don't want him anywhere else than above you, like right now, all his body pressed to yours. His open-mouthed kisses just under your ear, his teeth nipping tenderly on that sensitive point and his hot breath in your neck; it's too much to bear. You know your moans are wanton and all your being is asking for sex without any subtlety but it's not like you could do something against it anyway. His smooth palm sneaks under your top and your undone bra and cups your breast gently.

"Hmmm Deaaan," you whimper.

"So sexy… my girl," he breathes in your ear, his hips grinding on yours in slow rolls, making you feel the hard line of a very obvious erection directly between your legs. You close your eyes, panting heavily and surrendering to the sensation.   

Suddenly, he presses his face to your neck and heaves a short loud sigh. His hand leaves you breast reluctantly and goes down to your belly to caress the skin in tender circles. He passes an arm around the small on your back and makes you shift positions on the seat so you are now lying on top of him. You rearrange the plush blanket so it covers you both. Dean screws his eyes shut and heaves another frustrated sigh.

"What's going on?" you ask him quietly, resting your head on his shoulder and observing his reaction.

"I'm sorry to spoil the moment like that it's just…we shouldn't go any further since I don't have any condoms with me," he explains.  

You suddenly think about Mercedes and her unwanted pregnancy and you know your boss is right, it's wiser not to take any chance.

"It's okay, Dean, really," you reassure him, caressing the outside of his thigh through his jeans. "As much as I want it, this was already wonderful in itself."

"You deserve something better than a quick shag in my car in a fast-food parking, that's not very classy," he replies, his arm around you and his fingers tracing patters on your waist. "When you're back home, I promise I'm going to make love to you properly."

You smile dopily and lift your chin up to plant a kiss on his dimpled cheek. That would be a wish comes true, but you can't because you're stuck here in Palmerston North and you don't even know when you'll be allowed to leave. It could be in three days or three months for all that matters.  

"I need you. I need you back," he whispers into your hair. "I want to kidnap you and bring you back with me right now," he adds between kisses on the top of your head.   

"And I would be a happy victim of this abduction but I'm afraid if I go back to Wellington now, it would only make things worse."

"This is fucking unfair!" he sneers, "I'm going to that Mrs Campbell's office first thing in the morning tomorrow.  I don't know how I'm going to do it but I will get you out of here. I will convince her to let you go and then, I'll come and get you. " He falls silent for a moment, lost in thought, never ceasing his pleasant touches on your waist and ribcage. "And once we're at home. I'm going to do to you everything you want. I'm going to give it to you fast or slow, tender or rough, whatever you need.  I know you like it really deep, when you can feel me completely, " he purrs in a low-pitched voice and you feel the sexy words vibrating in his chest under your head.  

The lust that has started to cool down rushes back in your body and creates a pool of burning wetness between your legs. Your hand clenches unconsciously in his jeans' fabric and you let out an involuntary moan. "Yes, love it so much," you say in a tone that almost makes it sound like a plea. There is no point pretending. It's been far too long since the last time he took you and that you felt the delicious friction and the perfect stretching of his manhood inside you.

"It's true that you need it, huh darling? You need to be well-fucked," he breathes.

That's it. This man has just decided he is going to kill you tonight.  "Yes… need it… so bad." You lift your head to look at him with lust filled eyes and he turns his head to put a brief kiss on your lips, smiling at your reaction.

"When we're in my room, in our first night together back home," he adds, his lips brushing slightly on your panting mouth as he talks, his breath warming your face pleasantly,  "how many times are you going to need to be fucked to be feel sated? Tell me…"

Sometimes you wonder if there aren't two Deans because he can look like a shy puppy one second, asking if he can hug you and, just after, pour the filthiest dirty talk in your ears."

"Three… three times…," you whisper, because you know there is no way one time would be enough. It's not that he isn't good to satisfy you. In fact it is the exact opposite. Having sex with your boss is too delicious and you know that as soon as it's over, the only thing you're going to want is to do it again. Once you have tasted Dean O'Gorman, you can't get enough.

"Three? Ohh. Hmmm, Aidan is right, after all," he comments, "You're a greedy little thing."

"Is that a bad thing?" you question.

"No, not at all, quite the contrary, I love it. I'm not a teenager anymore but I'm not an old man either. With a bit of rest in-between, I'm surely able to please my lady at least three times," he murmurs, caressing your cheek, "And god knows I look forward to it."

He bumps the tip of his nose on yours and smiles softly. A comfortable silence settles between you and you spend the next moments exchanging slow kisses in each other's arms as the raindrops tap quietly on the car's roof. The rain is streaming on the windows and the street light that comes through them creates fascinating effects in your lover's golden hair.

You close your eyes and just listen to your man's breathing and the sound of the rain and the wind outside. Your body warmth mixing with Dean's under the blanket makes you feel sleepy. You would love to sleep here all night but you know that at some point, he is going to have to go back to Wellington. It's inevitable but you both seem to want to delay that moment as much as possible.

"It's a shame," he suddenly says, breaking the silence.

"What?" you enquire, opening your eyes.

 "I always wanted to re-enact the torrid scene from the Titanic," he explains, reaching a hand to the foggy window to press his hand on it and slide it down, brawling in a high-pitched voice: "ohhh Jaaaack!"

You chuckle and raise a brow, "so I would be Leonardo DiCaprio and you would be Kate Winslet if I understand well."

"Nah… I would be the iceberg."

"How so?"

"Because you make me melt," he smiles.

"Ew, so cheesy!" you laugh.  

"Okay then, I can be Celine Dion instead if you prefer."

"Haha, no, the iceberg is cool."

"Indeed, an iceberg is known to be really cool," he says with a wink, making you crackle again.

"Oh GOD! You're on a roll tonight! I'm sure there is a detention center somewhere in New Zealand for people like you who make too many bad puns to be left in society," you tease him.

"Oh, I make bad puns huh!?" he flashes you a dangerous cheeky grin and his lazy caresses on your flank turn into a vicious tickling.

You burst in hysteric giggles. You try to bat his hands away and escape the torture but you are trapped between him and the backrest of the car seat. You can't fight him, he is strong and merciless. "Please, please, Dean, stoooppp," you beg between fits of laughter and hiccups.

"Take it back and I'll stop," he chuckles, delighted to see you like that.

"Okay, okay!!!!" you finally surrender, "you're Fili, the prince of VERY good puns."

"Yeah, I like it better," he smirks as his hand leaves your ribcage and rests on your face as he puts a soft peck on your lips.

" Dean? "

"Hm?"

"Why are you here? Why are we together in your car in a McDonald’s parking in the middle of the night?" you ask, suddenly thoughtful.  

He pushes away a strand of your hair that fell in front of your face while you were struggling against his tickling. "Because I can't get you out of my head."

Your breath stays caught in your throat. You don't know what you should reply and somehow, you know that there is nothing more to say.

 

***

Your master drives you back to your building and he escorts you to the door under his umbrella. There is no one in the parking but he still takes the precaution of hiding his face under his hood like a thief. In front of the door, you exchange several other kisses, not wanting to acknowledge that one of them actually has to be the last one.

"You won't be here for long, babe, I promise. I won't give up until they allow me to bring you back," he tells you.

"Don't do something you might regret," you plead, "I don't want you to put yourself into trouble for me."

"Don't worry," he reassures you. "Okay, I really have to go now," he sighs. "Just one more for the road," he smiles before stealing one last quick kiss from your lips.

"Drive safe," you say as you let go of his hand.

You stay outside a few seconds more to watch his car leave in the street until it's out of your sight.

When you finally get into bed, you realize you have new texts. There is one from Aidan saying:" Gosh. Jess just told me. It sucks. We all want you back. Is there something I can do?" There is also another text from Ryan that goes: "I can't believe that witch sent you away. Gimme news when you can, yeah? Hope you're fine."

You're smiling as you get under the covers of your narrow bed. You are happy to know you have friends who care for you and you plan on replying to their messages first thing in the morning.

You hug your new warm blanket and bury your face in it. In the plush fabric lingers the smell of your lover's skin.  You fall asleep knowing that somewhere on the road between Palmerston North and Wellington; there is a brave golden haired warrior who is ready to fight for you.

What could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give me comments *grabby hands* give them all to me !!! pweeease !! *puppy eyes* 
> 
> You've probably noticed that I set the end of that story to 16 chapters. I could have written this story forever but now it's been about one year and a half that I'm working on it and I figured out that it would have to come to an end at some point. I'm feeling that you guys are starting to loose interest so I better finish it than continue it and loose all my readers. 
> 
> Thanks for reading/commenting/putting kudos and being awesome. love you all. <3


	13. Thrown to the Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't worry, I'm a tough guy. I can endure a few wolf bites."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: My beloved Katyushha, the precious jewel of my heart. <3 
> 
> WARNING: Maybe I should feel ashamed about a few things in that chapter but certainly not for the amount of sex. ALSO: woman on man oral sex (in case it could make someone uncomfortable.)
> 
> Disclaimer: As always, this is a FICTIONAL work. It's only the fruit of my mind and has NOTHING to do with the real actors or their real lives and nothing to do with the actual way the production of this movie treated its employees.

 

"He's angry?" you ask Jess, turning up the volume of your laptop, not sure you understood what she said through your speakers.  

It's not Jess who answers your question but Mr Turner who’s just appeared on the screen behind his assistant. "I think 'fucking pissed off' would be a better expression to describe Deano's mood today," he explains as he takes a chair to sit in front of Jess' computer. "I don't think I ever saw him so mad." 

"And he didn't tell you why?" you frown.

"It's obvious that it has something to do with your banishment," your female friend points out.

"I think he didn't want to talk about it on set, in front of the other people, which is quite understandable," Aidan tells you, running a hand through his dark curls, perplexed.

You clear your throat. It probably means that his meeting with Grunta in the morning didn't go as expected. You didn't have news from him since you saw him leave to go back to Wellington the night before.

"He's determined to free me from here and get me back on set. I guess he went to the monster's den and realized that Smaug was a joke compared to Grunta-the-terrible," you grumble.

"Oh god no… tell me he didn't…" Jess sighs, hitting her forehead with the palm of her hand.  

"I'm afraid he did. It was his plan to go and see her this morning," you reply.  

"Who are you talking about?" Aidan questions, clearly lost.

"I'll explain later," Jess tells him before reporting her attention on you again. "It's true though. Your boss is quite downcast and short-tempered these days, poor thing," she tells you, "I'm about to make a doll that looks like you and wave it in his face to make him smile, like with a baby."

"Aw," you coo, "but I'm sure you do your best to take good care of him while I'm away."

"I do," she grins, " even if it means double work, I must say I like having the whole hot-dwarves boys band for me."

"Hey !" you warn her, "don't forget that half of that boys band belongs to me!"

Suddenly, your phone starts ringing beside you on the little bed and your lover's name appears on the screen.

"Talking about hot-dwarves, I'll have to leave you at it, guys," you tell your friends, "big hugs, and I'll give you news soon."

They wave at you, bid you goodnight and your laptop screen turns black again as they hang up.

You take the call and apparently, your lover's mood didn't improve during the day because he barely takes the time to greet you before he starts ranting.  "I went to her office to meet her this morning, like I said I would, and do you know what that bitch told me?"  he fumes.

"No, I don't know yet. Tell me," you reply, staying calm and patient.

"She said the decision was irrevocable and that she could call me an escort discreetly if I had urgent needs to fulfill," he thunders, "like you could be replaced by an escort. I was so taken aback by such absurdity that I was at a loss for words."

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised," you state, "you know, for the production we are your private tension relief providers who happen to be useful when it comes to making urgent costume fixing or direct assistance on set, not much more than that. "

 It's not very shocking for you since Greta seemed to be able to stoop very low in order to be able to tyrannize everybody. Since Jessica is already helping him on the set, Grunta must have supposed that the only reason why Dean would want you back was because of some sexual frustration; in short, nothing an escort can't fix. Nothing coming from her should surprise you anymore. Though, you can't help feeling a painful pinch of temper. Suddenly, the image of a high class escort appears in your mind: some sublime creature with endless legs. You see her touching your lover's shoulders and unbuttoning his shirt. Unfortunately you have nothing to throw across the room apart from you laptop, and since that would be a bit extreme, you just take a deep breath to chase those images from your mind. You gulp, swallowing your saliva and your sour jealousy at the same time. The idea of him with another woman… it's harder to bear than ever after the intimate moments you shared the night before.

"I had to leave her office not to tell her things I would regret afterward," your master goes on, still on edge, "but that's not over. I can't let them treat you like you're a vulgar whore."

"Says the man who paid for sleeping with me," you blurt out without thinking.  You regret it immediately.

He pauses for a few seconds.

You can hear the hurt in his voice when he asks : "Are you still mad at me?"

"No babe, I'm not angry at you anymore," you hasten to reassure him, "the only thing I'm pointing out is that it can be easy to treat us this way giving the job we have. Maybe it's true and we have just to assume we're a bunch of whores," you ponder out loud.

"No. I can't accept that. That's against any human dignity. The assistants are not prostitutes. You are our companions, our helpers, our confidants, our friends and lovers. I know the others think the same thing I do."

"I hope you're right," you say softly.

"If the others don't want to stand for their assistants, who are working hard to make them happy, I surely will stand for you. This woman hasn't seen the last of me," he decides.

"My brave prince…" you smile.  

"I'm not brave," he objects, "I'm selfish. I just want you back."  

You sigh. "I'm probably selfish too because I want to come back and I let you take risks even if I know I shouldn't."

"I'm a big boy; I can handle myself," he replies, "if I choose to be stupid, it's my own problem. Besides, you're worth the risk."

Warmth and love overwhelm you at those last words. "Babe?"

"Hm?"

"When am I going to see you again?" you ask in a small supplicating voice. It's your own way to skirt rule number four and tell him how much you miss him.

He seems to feel the same because there is no trace of anger in his voice anymore, just kindness when he murmurs, "soon, very soon."

 

***

 

Wednesday passes, uneventful. You don't get much news from your boss, except for a text that tells you that he's "in negotiation".  

On Thursday, it’s total silence. The day passes with an excruciating slowness and you miss the agitation and the activity of the set more than ever.  

On Friday, you don't get any news from your boss or your friends for the entire day and you start to stress a bit. What if they just forgot you exist and you're stuck here for the rest of the shooting? Then, you tell yourself to stop being such a drama queen. Around 4:30 as your work day is over, you send a quick text to your lover, asking him what he is up to. It stays unanswered. You go out and grab something to eat; you come back and eat in your tiny room, listening to a movie on your laptop… and still no news from Dean. Unless you buy a bus ticket to Wellington, you're obviously condemned to spend the weekend alone in Palmerston North.

 As the hours pass you manage to pass from boredom to anger to resignation. You finally tell yourself that it's stupid to sulk and to pine for a man like a desperate princess imprisoned in her tower. Trying to be proactive, you start browsing the internet to find exciting things to do in Palmerston North over the weekend but you have to admit that the enthusiasm is not really there.

It's already 9:30 PM, you have written down the address of the Te Manawa Museum of Art, Science and History and the name of a few parks in the area, but the ambition to do something of your life seems to have left you. Instead, you are slumped on your bed, your face resting on your paper sheet and by now, you probably have " Ruamahanga Park" printed on the right cheek.  Too lazy to move from your uncomfortable position, you stretch out to take something from your purse. You look at the key chain in your hand: the little steampunk owl that guards the key to Dean's house. On the card accompanying this gift, your boss wrote " you can always use it to come back to me." You close your fist around the key chain and squeeze. You wish it also had a super power that could make you go back to the warmth of his arms instantly.  You stay like that for a while, lost in thoughts, until you hear something you didn't hope for anymore: the sound of a new text on your phone.

10:01PM D.O'- I'm outside.

You frown, very confused. He can't possibly mean….

10:02PM [You]- What?

Your phone start ringing and you answer your call.

"I'm here. I parked my car in the alleyway behind the building" Dean's voice beams, "we're going home, baby."

You let out a surprised delighted hiccup and you assure him you will be there in a minute. You swear you have never got anything done as fast as you pack your things. To be honest, you just shove all your things carelessly in your bag.

There is no one in the alley way behind the building when you get there: no one but a handsome blond man whose gaze lightens as soon as he sees you.

For an instant, as you walk toward him, you're not sure what to do. You wonder if he still feels the same as the last time you've been together?  You get your answer soon enough when he pulls you into his arms and the softness of his lips on yours erase all you doubts.

You break the kiss and drown in the deep blue water of his eyes.

"I missed you," he murmurs, holding your face in his hands like he is afraid you would fall down and break if he didn't.

Your heart flutters. What to do when it's your boss who breaks rule number four?

"I'm so glad you're here," you reply.

"You look beautiful," he tells you when you get in the passenger seat and buckle up your seat belt.  You smile back. You're not sure what he finds that special about your jeans and your ponytail but you certainly wouldn't complain. You think he is quite gorgeous too but it doesn't have anything to do with what he is wearing. Even if you found a clever way not to actually say the words, you have missed him so much and he could be wearing a potatoes sack right now and you would still think he's the most attractive man in the world.

He places a hand on your knee as he drives on the highway and you cover his hand with yours, playing with his knuckles gently and you study his elegant profile.

 You spend the two hours of driving in nice, simple and comfortable small talk. You're curious to know how he managed to convince Grunta to free you from Palmerston North but you don't want to talk about it now. You’d rather just enjoy being with him.

As he takes the exit to Wellington, he asks you if you want him to drop you at your flat but you decline the offer. There is no way you will spend this night without him. He is obviously rejoiced by your decision as he takes the direction to Seatoun's neighborhood.

 

***

 

Dean takes your bag from the boot of the car and carries it to his house. You're tired and it probably shows. You express to your boss your desire to take a shower and he uses this opportunity to take Batman outside while you're under the shower spray.

The water in your basement in Palmerston North was always freezing. Taking an actual hot shower feels like paradise. Usually, when you were spending a few nights a week at his place, you were using some of his own shampoo, not really caring if you smelled a bit manly afterward.

You have forgotten to take your shower supplies from your bag so you're about to borrow your lover's soap when you notice a little basket in the corner of the shower with a shampoo bottle, a conditioner and a shower gel. The three pink bottles are accompanied by a candy-pink bath puff. You smile and chuckle fondly. Typical men's logic: if you have to buy something for a woman, buy the most outrageously pink stuff: no chance to make a mistake this way, bonus points if there are flower patterns on it. You could pretend the contrary but you're really touched by the little attention. Can this man get any more adorable?

When you're done, you come out of the bathroom bare foot with only a towel wrapped around you and you go to the hall to fetch your luggage and take some clean clothes but your bag has disappeared. You head up to the bedroom, thinking that maybe your boss brought it there. And you are right. You find not only your bag but also your Dean, seated on the edge of the bed, only wearing some dark grey tight boxer briefs.  

"You already forged ahead I see," you point out, taking in the enticing sight.   

He smiles. You know that smile too well and it sends pleasant shivers down your spine. "You can leave the towel on the floor, you won't need it," he tells you quietly, his eyes shining with a dangerous and bewitching lust.    

Instantly, the atmosphere is charged with sexual tension and the few meters that are separating you from his warm body seem too much. You undo the towel and let it fall to your feet.

You walk toward him slowly. He appraises your naked body, detailing your silhouette, devouring your curves with his gaze as he licks his lips. He climbs on the bed and sit on it with his back resting on the wall. He pats the space in front of him. "Come and sit in front of me, baby," he asks you.

You don't ask any questions, you trust him. You obey and sit between his parted legs, turning your back on him. He reaches a hand and pushes your wet hair aside, his fingertips grazing your skin and making you shudder.

 

"First of all, we are going to make you relax a bit, you are way too tense," he murmurs putting his hands on your waist from behind and digging his thumbs in the knots in your lower back's muscles. You let out a long sigh of relief as you tilt your head on both sides to stretch your neck.

"I know it's been a stressing week for you but you are with me now, safe in my bed…," he purrs, leaning down to put a kiss on the back of your shoulder.

 

He massages your back for a while, letting his shapely lips linger on the nape of your neck in sweet little kisses. Your little moans of relaxation are more like a heavy panting of arousal by now; Dean seems to be a pro when it comes to turning a massage into the most erotic foreplay. His hands are not only massaging and caressing you, they are playing with you like you're a musical instrument, like some work of art in progress. It's like trusting him and his touch could make you even more beautiful than you already are, or, at least, make you acknowledge with even more accuracy your own beauty and sensuality. He takes care of your body with the same passion he puts in his acting, photography and painting. Even when making love, Dean is still an artist.

 

At some point, he passes his arms around you and brings you closer, pressing your back against his chest. "Now that you are less tense, I'm going to spread those beautiful legs of yours if you don't mind," he tells you in a heated whisper. Since your feet are resting on the outside of his ankles, he just has to spread his own legs and you don't have any other choice but to do the same. You feel really exposed but his body feels so strong and solid behind yours that you can't help but want to give yourself to him completely and take everything he would want to give you.  

 

"Third," he purrs in your neck, "I'm going to pleasure you the way you deserve." His hand travels from your ribcage to your waist, than from there to the hip and you perfectly know where it is going.

 

"Ah! Hm, Dean ! nnn…" you plead incoherently.

 

Your lover isn't sure if it's a protest or an encouragement so he freezes. "What is it, beauty? I was just going to touch you with my fingers; we did that before, yeah? But if it's not what you want, just tell me,"  his hand stops on its way down, his palm tracing soothing patterns on your belly. He leaves you all the time you need to make up your mind.

 

"No, please, go on… I'll die if you don't," you urge him, turning your head to kiss his stubby throat. He smiles, appreciating the attention.He turns his head as well and claims your mouth in a deep kiss as he puts his hand on the inside of your thigh. He let his fingers linger on an especially sensitive patch of skin, listening to your little sounds of pleasure. "I'm going you make you feel really good, I promise," he whispers in your ear, caressing it with his lips and warm breath.

 

His hand moves teasingly up your thigh, torturously slowly. He obviously enjoys having your lower back pressed on his hard clothed length because it feels like his body tries to search your contact even more. To add to the agony, he kisses the tender skin under your ear.  He mouths his way down on the flesh of your neck and shoulder, welcoming every new shiver as a personal little victory. He seems to want to torment you like that for hours, just brushing your offered thigh with his fingers and feeling your body responding to the soft touch, but when you moan and breathe "Please Dean… please baby…," his fingers finally reach their anticipated destination.

 

You gasp and tense before you melt against his chest and spread your legs even more as he proceeds with intimate feather-like touches in your wet folds. He circles you with his left arm to keep you close to him and cups your breast gently with his free hand, making you shudder even more. He nips at your neck sensually before whispering, "rest your head back on my shoulder and close your eyes." He can see that you are still a bit tense with anticipation and need and he wants you as receptive and pliant as he can get you. You obey with a low moan. Now that he has an even better access to your neck, he takes this opportunity to taste your skin again and breathe in your feminine scent.

 

When he feels with his practised touch that you are relaxed enough to welcome him without any discomfort, he pushes his forefinger inside you, resuming his caress on your pleasure spot with his thumb. He is rewarded by a loud lecherous whimper from your throat. "Yeah, that's it…don't fight it, just let yourself feel it," he approves in a shaky whisper.

 

The touch of his hand down there, added to the caress of his free hand on your breast and the one of his soft lips in your neck makes you cry of pleasure -- your voice echoing in the large bedroom. " Dean… D…Dean… baby…," you repeat in an ecstasy-filled complaint. You fight the urge of moving your hips to take his finger deeper. He seems to feel it because he soon adds another finger and crooks them slightly, knowing it's the best way to reach your sweet spot.  The heat in your stomach is burning so good, making you moan without any shame.

 

"It's okay, I'm here," he comforts you, never ceasing to make the pleasure grow more intense with every second. "I'm just here behind you, honey, I'm not going anywhere. I won't let you down," he vows. Indeed, you can feel his strong chest on your naked back, the soft scratching of manly body hair and the slight layer of sweat on his pectorals and stomach. It's like he knows you by heart; he knows your signs and his nips on your neck become more urgent as he realizes you're already close. He knows he has very little effort to make to take you over the edge now. You're pretty sure you're screaming, though you are barely conscious of what is happening around you, apart from the overwhelming sensation of being enveloped by your lover's presence. By now, anybody in the neighborhood must be aware that someone is getting laid.

 

You have a hand grabbing his hair at the back of his head and the other on his thigh, your fingertips and nails digging in the flesh, but he doesn't seem to mind at all. "Dean… I'm… I'm…" you try to say.

 

"You're such a joy to play with, babe, so sensitive," he replies, holding you tight. "Let it go, give it to me."

 

"But… but… what about you?…," you try to protest.

 

"Don't think about me. You don’t have any idea how much I’m enjoying myself seeing you like this right now," he reassures you, pushing his hips forward to make you feel how hard he is against your back. "Come on, sexy, show me what a good girl you are," he encourages you, increasing the intensity of his caresses. He bites down your neck gently. Your body tenses and you clench around his fingers as your orgasm washes over you. Your whole body is shivering from the violence of the sensation as you cry out through your release.

 

You are still trembling when he turns you around and cradles in his arms, kissing your forehead. He lets you gather back your wits and your heavy panting going back to normal. He looks down at you with a content smile. You rest your head against his bicep. You feel good, satisfied, comfortable and sleepy in his arms.

 

"Hmmm. You're welcome," he smiles teasingly before putting a tender kiss on your lips. "We can sleep now, if you're tired," he suggests.

 

You run a hand down his stomach to palm the bulge in his boxers, eliciting a muffled moan from the back of his throat. "It's unfair and cruel for you, we can't leave you like that," you point out with a cheeky smile. You're still hungry for him, feeling like the she wolf that just spotted a particularly delicious-looking stag.

"We can take care of it later if you need to sleep," he whispers, but you see that your hand cupping him through his underwear has its effect.

  

You push on his chest to make him lie on his back on the bed. "Sleep is for the weak. It's my turn to play with you."

He seems relaxed but he raises himself on his elbows to follow your actions attentively, his lips slightly parted and his blue eyes glazed with arousal. "What are you going to do to me?" he asks playfully.

"Shhh, my prince, wait and see," you shush him, taking an appreciative look at the short but strong and beautiful legs. You lean down and put a first gentle kiss on the slightly hairy skin of a tone thigh muscles. You hear his breath hitch. His flesh smells sexy and manly. You want to taste him more, to devour every inch of him. You press another kiss to the sensitive spot on the inside of his thigh before biting down softly, eliciting a sigh of delight from your lover.

You insert your fingers under the waistband of his boxer briefs and he lifts his hips slightly from the bed, helping you getting rid of his underwear. You force yourself to ignore the tempting and proudly erected member for now, in order to place a trail of butterfly kisses in the little hollow just inside a jutting hipbone. The skin there is sinfully soft. Then, your mouth traces the slight curve of his belly to his navel and you nuzzle the hairline just under it tenderly. The scent there is full of male pheromones and it makes your head spin slightly.  

"Touch me, please," he begs in a small arousal-filled voice. 

"I'm already touching you, babe," you tease him, grabbing the flesh of his inner thigh with your hand for emphasis. "I'm sorry for being such a tease," you apologize, " I'll behave from now on, I promise."

He gasps when you close your hand around his manhood. The hard flesh is incredibly soft and delicate under your touch. He feels both unbreakable and fragile in your palm. Until now, every time you had sex, you let him take control of the foreplay more than willingly; knowing how great he is when it comes to spoiling you. But tonight it feels good to be the one pleasuring him. You lover seems to appreciate the moment completely. In a quiet voice, between shaky moans in synch with your hand's moves, he tells you how he likes to be caressed and touched and lets you experiment as well. You appreciate that he feels at ease enough with you to share his preferences and you are eager to learn.

The loud throaty groan he makes when you lean down to kiss the tip of his cock tentatively is enough for you to get aroused and want him instantly all over again. Then, you press your lips on the base of the shaft, on the pulsing vein, and you place a trail of wet kisses up to the tip. You know you're doing well when you see his toes curl and his fists clench in the bed sheets. You trace the same path with your tongue this time, licking a long stripe on the hard length. You're rewarded with breathy whimpers of ecstasy: "Hmm, babe, hmmm so good… your mouth…"

"Tell me what you want," you tantalize him, totally enjoying yourself by teasing him and reducing him to a trembling mess of desire.

"I think you can guess," he winks, "but you don't have to do anything you wouldn't want to."

"I know, but it would be an honor to suck that beautiful cock of yours," you state, stroking said gorgeous manhood gently.  

"God…." he groans wantonly. He reaches a hand to take two pillows and he shoves them behind his back. 

"You should just relax on the mattress," you suggest gently.

"Nah, I don't want to miss anything," he murmurs," I mean, would you mind if I watched you? It's just… it turns me on so much,"

"I don't mind at all. I'm your devoted servant," you smile.  

"Don't say that," he protests, lifting your chin with his hand to make you look into his eyes, "You're my beautiful lady, my sweet lover… not my servant."  He drags you toward him and claims your lips with his soft mouth and eager tongue.

His words move you more than you would be willing to admit. It's probably the kind of thing every PA wants to hear from their boss. When you are alone with Dean, in that little world made of hugs and tender smiles, you forget the true nature of your position. When you are outside in the real world, the truth hits you in the face, sometimes painfully. Your dismissal one week ago was one of those slaps. You can't complain when you think about the situation of some people like Mercedes or even Irina whose boss doesn't want her anymore. You know you're lucky in your misfortune. You have a boss who cares for you and can be both a good friend and an affectionate lover. The attraction between you was almost immediate and you got along straight away. You don't even want to imagine how it would've been it hadn't been the case. You pray that the desire you read in those turquoise eyes never fades away.

You break the kiss, flushed and breathless. "Hm. Where was I?" you ask him with a hint of mischief.

"You were about to give me a lot of pleasure if I remember well," he indicates in a honeyed voice.  

"Oh, yeah, you're right." You place a kiss on his solar plexus and you go down on him, leaving a few gentle nips on his belly. Seriously, this virile little tummy is so sexy you could worship it for hours but you have more important things to do. After a few preparation caresses, you take him in your mouth carefully. The reaction is immediate. The moan you draw from him is loud and a little animalistic: it's the sound of a man who lets go completely. He is panting between low-pitched groans and holding on to the bed's covers for dear life. He makes little moves of his hips but you can feel he is restraining himself from bucking up in your mouth. Soon his golden skin is slicked with sweat. "So hot…" he manages to say, his eyes focused on your actions. When the pleasure seems to get too much, he screws his eyes shut and throws his head back on the pillows.

There is no barrier between you and him. You can feel directly what you're doing to him. Apart from hearing his breath hitching and his sounds of utter bliss, you can feel him pulsing, getting thicker, hotter and harder between your lips when you do something he particularly likes. He puts a hand on you and touches you everywhere he can reach: your back, your stomach, your legs, his hand grabbing your flesh when an especially intense wave of delight hits him.

"Baby… please stop," he begs you after a while, his breath heavy and irregular.

You release him and lift your head to look in his glazed blue eyes, wondering if you did something wrong.

"I like it so much," he reassures you.  "I could let you do that for the rest of the night," he explains, reaching out to touch your chin in a fond gesture, "but I want you now, want you too much."

He gets rid of the pillows and you crawl on top of a sweaty but very nice, warm and tempting male body. You exchange passionate feverish kisses. His hands fondle your lower back and your butt, kneading your flesh possessively.

He whines softly at the loss when you break the kiss to reach a hand to the top drawer of his nightstand and fetch a condom.

"My goddess," he whispers fondly, his palm roaming your curves as you sit on his thighs, on top of him. "My lord Bragi," you retort with a loving teasing smile, rolling the condom down his erection carefully.

"Ride me, gorgeous Valkyrie," he smiles, his eyes sparkling with lust and fondness.

You chuckle. You appreciate that he doesn't make a big deal of it. It's just sex. It's made to be fun, easy, simple and intimate -- with Dean, it's all of it and even more.

You place your knees each side of him comfortably. Your gazes don't leave each other's as he positions himself and starts to penetrate you gently from underneath. He puts his hand on your hips and helps you sinking down on his member. Your breathing accelerates and you grab his forearms for purchase. It's so good to feel him burying himself inside you. His enraptured expression is mirroring yours as you allow yourself to get used to the sensation of fullness, before starting to move, slowly at first.

Delectated whimpers are tumbling down from your mouths. He lifts his hips in sensual rolls to thrust inside you and meet your own moves. One of his hands leaves your hip in order to go down south stimulating your clit with soft strokes of the pulp of his thumb.  The other hand is wrapped around your hip, controlling the pace of the love making. You let him guide you, too lost in bliss. You arch your back, moaning your pleasure to the ceiling as you anchor yourself with your hands on his strong thighs behind you. Apparently, your body has a short memory and it doesn't remember it's been satisfied not long before because you feel the heat of an upcoming orgasm flooding your every cell again.

"Har…Harder!," you beg.

He complies with a groan, pounding inside you with all his strength, giving you exactly what you need. There is no other sensation that can be compared to the one of that intense physical connection with your man.

"Look at me," he demands, "I want to see it in your eyes."

You obey and look down at him. A strong shiver goes down your spine as your second orgasm of the night hits you. Your heart is drumming in your ears and your knees go weak all of a sudden. You collapse on your lover. He gathers you in his arms and rolls above you. Five more powerful thrusts and he follows you over the edge, your name on his kiss-abused lips and his face hidden in your neck.

You lock your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck.

"Oh, I'm trapped," he remarks in a chuckle, trying to catch his breath as he grins at you from above, his face an inch from yours. He looks so happy and contented.

You kiss him chastely. "Please, don't go," you plead. You like to feel him so close to you – inside you. You don't want him to break the spell.

"I can stay for a little while but not for long," he replies, petting your hair. You both know that if he waits in this position it can jeopardize the efficacy of your protection.

He kisses a lazy trail on your collarbone and nuzzles your neck. You let him do, just relaxing. 

 "I'm sorry," he apologizes and he tries to buy your forgiveness with a gentle kiss as he pulls himself out of your body. You let out a frustrated whiny protestation against his lips as he gets off you. As soon as he's done discarding the rubber, he's back in the bed with you. 

He pillows his head on your breast with a content hum and you card your fingers through a mussed mane of blond hair. Your other hand caresses distractedly the forearm dusted with pale ginger hair that is resting across your stomach. You are just basking in the comfort and warmth of his proximity.

He, on the other hand, seems to be lost in deep thoughts. You press a kiss to his forehead and you can almost feel his brain running wild inside his head.

He lifts his chin up to look at you, his head still resting on your breast. He studies your face for a few seconds and clears his throat. "During the last month," he begins, hesitant, "when we were in a kind of break… have you… did you have any other… experiences?"

Before you could try to answer, he cuts you.  "Okay. It's none of my business. Forget what I just said," he decides, "let me try again."

"I'm listening," you encourage him.

"You and me, are we exclusive?" he asks you, unsure.

"Is it what you want? Do you want us to be exclusive?" you question him.

He nods. "Only if it's what you want too."

You toy with his hair and scratch the scalp behind his ear gently, knowing how much he likes it. "I'm not seeing anybody else apart from you and I'm not planning to do so as long as you're in my life," you reassure him.  

He looks at you with that adorable and brilliant relieved grin that just makes you fall for him a little more.

He closes his eyes for a moment, just purring from your sweet attentions. You shut your eyes too and feel sleep calling you. The weight of his head that was agreeable before starts to be a bit uncomfortable. He figures it out before you can say anything and he changes position. He replaces the bed's covers, pulling them to cover your naked forms. You roll onto your left side and he passes an arm around you to spoon you. "I failed in my mission," he mutters sleepily in your hair.

"What do you mean?"

"I was supposed to make you come three times, remember?"

"Don't worry," you yawn, "I'll remember that you owe me."

"I'll repay it all with the interest," he swears before kissing you goodnight on the nape of your neck. 

 

***

 

You're so happy to go back to your work on the set that you're already up and ready at 5:30AM even if your boss doesn't have to be on the set until 1:00PM. You want to text your friends to tell them you're back but you figure out that it's Saturday and they have half a day off, so they are probably asleep. Since your lover is still dead to the world as well, with his face under his pillow and one leg out of the bed, you decide to take Batman out for a walk. It's still dark when you take the direction of Churchill Park, a very enthusiastic Irish wolfhound-Staffordshire on your heels.

Once in the park, you sit in the wet cold grass, your arm around the dog that sits by your side. You bury your fingers in the warm fur and you watch the first rays of the sun reflecting in the water of the bay, coloring it with a stunning golden pink. At this very moment you feel a kind of serene completion, as if all the puzzle pieces of your life were on the process of settling themselves at their right place. 

When you start feeling cold, you stand up and tug on the leash, urging Batman to follow you home, which he does obediently.

You just get in and you're closing the door when you are suddenly engulfed from behind in the warm embrace of a half-asleep Kiwi. "I woke up alone and wondered for a second if I had dreamt what happened last night," he mumbles.

"And what happened last night?" you tease, turning around.

"You don't remember?"

"Not a thing."

"Hm. That's a shame. I guess I have to refresh your memory," he observes with a lazy smile.  

You grab the edge of his t-shirt and tug on it lightly. "I have a very bad memory, you know."

He circles your shoulders and pulls you closer. "If you come back to bed, I can show you," he murmurs. You nod and you let him take you by the hand to guide you back to the bedroom.

When you make love, this time it's less urgent and desperate but no less enjoyable. Afterward, you cuddle and chat about nothing and everything for about two hours. When you see your lover yawn, you suggest a nap, but you know you won't be able to sleep. So you just rest on your elbow and watch his face relax progressively until his breath becomes more even and tenuous. When you lean down to put a light kiss on his eyebrow, you feel the last puzzle piece find its place.

 

***

 

You didn't expect actual outburst of joy from your colleagues when you would be back on set but you certainly didn't expect such a tense atmosphere. Of course Jessica, Ryan and Ros greet you with happy hugs but you can feel that something is not right. The other PAs seem to stick close to their masters and look at the others with suspicion. Without surprise, you notice that Stella almost runs away to the other side of the studio as soon as she sees you.

Jess follows your gaze and snorts. "I discovered why she did that to you. She told her sister about her and Mr McTavish and said sister wrote something ambiguous about it on Facebook. Stella made her sister erase it but since some people had shared it, she was afraid the production could see it, so she denounced you to be in Greta's good grace. I swear I seriously thought about doing the same to her but I want to stay as far as possible from the PR department these days."

"It's okay," you sigh, "it doesn't change anything anymore since I'm back."

Ros leaves in order to go help her boss and you stay there, chatting with Ryan and Jess since the shooting seems to be delayed again because of some technical problems. As they continue to pester Stella, you take a look around and notice that some of the actors are alone; namely Mr. Brophy and Mr. Hunter. When you question your friends on that subject, Ryan pulls a face. "The production fired Irina. Someone told Grunta about the pictures on her phone. It's difficult to know who told her since Irina had bragged about it to almost everybody, the careless girl."

"And Mercedes?" you ask.

"I don't really know. She didn't show up at work since Wednesday," he observes. You exchange a worried knowing look with Jess but don't dare comment it.

Suddenly, Jess looks at something above your shoulder that makes her grins. "Don't turn around," she warns you in a conspiring tone, "but there is a man looking at you."

You make a move to turn around but she whisper-shouts:" I said DON'T turn around!"

Ryan chuckles at her antics.

"What does he look like?" you ask with a smirk, fairly sure you know who she's talking about.

She pretends to peek at him once more. "He's blond, not tall, wears a dwarf costume, he's not bad," she enumerates.  She hides her mouth with her hand to tell you: "He looks like the actor who plays that naked douchebag in The Almighty Johnsons."

"You think I have my chances with him?" you ask, pretending to be anxious.

"Giving the way he looks at you, I think you have all your chances," Jess analyses, crossing her arms.  

"Maybe I should go and talk to him," you ponder out loud, not able to erase the grin from your lips.

"You have nothing to lose," Ryan tells you, choosing to play your little game. "A Dean O'Gorman doppelganger… your ultimate fantasy, darling -- you don't meet that kind of guy on every street corner."

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god !!!!! He's coming our way!!" Jess squeaks, imitating the perfect hysteric schoolgirl.

"Really !!!??," you reply in the same tone. "Do I look okay!?" you ask Ryan, playing with your hair nervously.  

Your tall tattooed friend crackles. "You're perfect, honey," he reassures you.

"Hey!" your boss beams.

"Hey!" you reply, in sync with Jess, you both sporting the innocent and slightly stupid faces of girls who certainly weren't making fun at his expanse one second ago.

Your lover open his mouth but he doesn't have time to tell you anything because an excited Irishman pops in from nowhere like a jack in the box, his trademark infectious grin on his lips. He puts his hands on Dean's shoulders and squeezes to get his best friend's attention. "You're still coming tonight, huh Deano?" he asks.

"What's going on tonight?" you ask the young man.

"Mister Turner only wants to show off with his new giant TV screen," Jess explains.

"Exactly," the curly brunet rejoices, "I thought that a tournament of FIFA on my Ps3 would be a nice way to chill out, and you're all invited of course."

"Yeah! That sounds great," you approve. Even if these days you would like to stay 24/7 in Dean's bed, having a little social life won't hurt. You missed your friends and you know you'll have plenty of time later to play the springtime rabbits with your lover.

"Perfect," Aidan chimes. "At eight tonight at my place, then."

"How can I help you ?" you ask Dean as soon as his friend is gone.

"I forgot my phone in my locker and I was wondering if you could accompany me so we could revise my lines while walking," he asks you.

You can't help but blush a little bit and smile at the poor excuse he's making up. Fortunately, your friends abstain themselves from making any comments.

"Of course, sir," you smile.

As you follow him, you throw a glance back to see Jess giving you two thumbs' up and a wink.

"This isn't the direction of the changing room," you point out, raising a brow as your boss takes a turn to the right instead of the left -- the direction of the lockers.

"I know," he simply says, as he walks toward the managing department offices that are practically empty at weekends. He leads you to a random empty corridor and he stops abruptly.  He rests his back on the wall with a naughty look in his twinkling blue eyes. There are suddenly dwarf hands on your hips pulling you against a body you can't quite feel through the multiple layers of costume and the muscle suit.

"I want to kiss you so bad," he murmurs. "It drives me crazy that I can't touch you..."

You put a hand on the back of his neck, on the low ponytail that keeps his wig away from his face when he isn't in front of the cameras. "We shouldn't do that here, Dean," you scold him in a whisper but your voice comes out less commanding than you would want it to be. You're already melting under his clumsy dwarven caresses.

"I know, but it's stronger than me," he protests tilting his head to the side slightly, his face getting closer to yours. You close your eyes and lean into the kiss, cursing yourself mentally for being so weak and pliable. You return the kiss, trying not to eat the beads of his braided mustache in the process. It's still quite sweet.

He pulls back. "Clearly, Fili doesn't have any sexual life, because there is no way you can kiss a lass properly with this damn 'stache," he snickers.   

"It's fine, anyway the make-up artists would be mad if it came off." You push away a long stray strand of blond hair from his face, letting your fingers linger on his cheek for a moment. "You're not too disappointed I hope?"

"No. It feels good to get to hold you for a bit," he replies, tightening his embrace around you. "I'm sorry if I act like a horny teenager, but you make me feel like one," he confesses.  

"You're adorable," you assure him, "and to be honest: I'm quite flattered."

"Babe," he begins, looking guilty and apprehensive all at once, "there is something I should tell you. I hope you won't be too upset…"

Instantly, you feel a lump forming in your throat. This kind of introduction is never a good sign.

He doesn't have time to tell you because he pricks up an ear and frowns. "Someone's coming. We should go back on set. We'll talk later," he hastens to say, breaking your embrace.

Indeed, you can clearly hear it now: the sound of high heels on the floor, coming your way. You take the direction of the set, trying to look casual as much as possible since giving how the corridors are configured in the studios, there is no way you can avoid passing that person.

When you turn around the corner and get face to face with the owner of the high heels, you feel your heart dropping to your knees.

Greta Campbell stops dead in her tracks, her eyes widening, an expression of utterly displeased surprise on her face.  

"What are you doing here?" she bellows, glaring at you.

"We are working together today and we were just going back on set," Dean informs her with a cold unfriendly voice, stepping aside to place himself between you and her in a protective gesture.

"With all due respect, Mr. O'Gorman," Grunta tells him with the polite smile of a venomous viper, "I wasn't talking to you."

"With all due respect, Mrs. Campbell," your lover begins with the same tone. Even if the word "respect" has already been said twice in that conversation, you feel that there isn't any between them two. "If she is there, it's because I brought her back from the concentration camp where you had sent her without any real justification."

And then it strikes you. That's probably what Dean wanted to tell you: that he had brought you back without her authorization. _Oh no, Dean… what have you done?_   you think. 

"You don't have any authority to be the judge of that, sir. She is the production's employee before she is yours. We are the ones who decide who works and who gets fired." She drills her killing stare in your eyes and continues;" and since you came back without authorization."

"No!" Dean roars. "She didn't know she wasn't allowed to come back. It was my decision," he tells her in a firm voice. "Besides," he adds, " I'm sure your immediate superiors would love to know in what disgusting disrespectful terms you talked about my assistant when I was in your office, wouldn't they?"   

Grunta tenses and for a split second she looks like she is going to punch your boss in the face. You actually take a step forward ready to defend your boss physically if necessary.

"You are playing a very dangerous game, Mr. O'Gorman," she sneers, "you have no idea what you're attacking. You can be sure that Peter will hear about it."

"Fine, perfect," Dean spits out, "tell him. But I can promise you one thing: I won't let you go anywhere near my girlfriend or bully her anymore."

You heart jumps at that. Never in your craziest dreams would you have expected your boss to say such thing one day.

"Oh, your girlfriend, then?" Grunta smirks with haughty mockery, "poor man…" she adds and she seems to pity him for some reasons. She's even laughing of derision as she turns away and takes her leave.

When she's gone, your dwarf turns toward you with a sheepish look, knowing exactly what you're going to say.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me I wasn't supposed to be here?" You're so shaken by what just happened that you don't even want to think about the mere possibility of being rejoiced about the fact he called you his girlfriend.

"I was about to," he points out, looking at his boots.  

"I mean, why didn't you tell me before, so at least I wouldn't have taken the chance of showing up on set?" You want to be angry but somehow you can't. For now you're just afraid: afraid for him.

"I know. I wanted to, but you seemed so happy to come back to work today that I didn't have the heart to refuse that to you. Jess told me about the tiny prison cell room you were living in, alone with a creepy security guard. I couldn't let you rot in Palmerston North in those conditions all the weekend anyway, could I? " he sighs. "Plus, there is the fact that this woman would've never let you come back. After the third meeting I had with her, she told me that she had added one week to your dismissal for every time I had come to her office asking her to free you. And the things she said about you and the other assistants, it got me so mad, you have no idea." He walks toward you and since the corridor is deserted again, he takes your hand in his prosthetic one gently. "If you're angry with me, I understand. I'm sorry you witnessed that scene but it was bound to happen one day or another."

"I'm not angry: I'm scared. It's not that I didn't want to come back. I'm happy to be back. But I have to think about your career too, babe," you tell him and bite your lower lip.

"They won't fire me; they can't, not at this stage of the shooting. It would be too hard and expensive to replace me."

"Maybe, but they still can sanction you…"

"I'll cross the bridge when I get there," he replies with philosophy.  

"Why am I under the impression I’ve just thrown you to the wolves?" you hiss between clenched teeth.  

"You did nothing," he smiles reassuringly, squeezing your hand. "Don't worry, I'm a tough guy. I can endure a few wolf bites."

 Your phone goes off and you take a look at the coded automatic text you just received.

"You're called on the set, champion," you tell your boss.

"Let's go, then. The show must go on."

As soon as your boss gets on the set, the technicians put him in a harness and make him climb up a tree.

After a few hours of dwarves throwing fake inflamed pine cones at imaginary wargs, the actors get out of their harnesses and you give your boss a bottle of water to make sure he rehydrates.

"Okay, we can call it a day, guys! Have a nice day off tomorrow, everybody!" Peter calls.  "Dean!" he hails your boss, "I would like to talk to you in private if you don't mind."

Your stomach tightens with nervousness.

"Certainly!" Dean says back with an uptight smile. "The bridge arrived sooner than I thought," he whispers to you.  

"I'll wait in your trailer," you whisper back.

You want to grab his hand, keep him from going there, to the trap full of wolves. You can't take his hand in public so you just watch him go, helpless, feeling a little nauseous and your heart beating fast with fear.

 

***

 

One hour is an awfully long time. It's long enough to make too much tea and make up a lot of catastrophic scenarios in your head, one uglier than the other. In the last version your panicked mind invented, Dean and Batman are reduced to be homeless and beg for money in Auckland's streets because of you.

Finally, after what seems to be an eternity, the door opens and a visibly unhappy Dean enters the trailer. He has his costume and prosthetics removed and he is wearing the jeans and the stripped polo shirt he was wearing in the morning. He adverts your gaze, scratching his forehead where remains some spot of the glue that helps keeping his wig in place. The special glue they use when they know the scene they are shooting is going to make the actors sweat a lot is a real nightmare to remove from the skin.

"Sit down. I'm going to take care of it," you offer abruptly as you fetch some nail polish remover and Q-tips you keep in his trailer's bathroom especially for these occasions.

He obeys without a word, letting himself fall on a chair, looking tired. You push his hair back and proceed to remove the glue silently, waiting for him to talk.

"The situation is worse than I expected but not catastrophic," he finally sighs. "In fact, it wasn't just Peter that I talked to but also another guy from the production company. It was a lawyer I think. It's the production that puts the cash in that project, a lot of cash; hence they can do whatever they want. But they aren't really pleased when someone like me, one of the public faces who are supposed to sell the product to the public, starts to criticize their policies. I'm starting to be a bit too dangerous for their liking," he explains.

"What are they going to do?" you question him.

 He turns his head and tilts it to the side to give you a better access to a particularly stiff spot of glue. "They are going to cut out some of my screen time and erase my character from a few scenes in the scenario. They will use Aidan instead of me for some of them. Making Fili a less important character guarantees them that I will have less place in the promotion of the movie as well. At least I guess it's the main reason why they do that."  

Your hand stops mid-motion and your arm falls at your side. You don't want to believe what you're hearing. He lifts his gaze to look at you. You can see that it affects him even if he wants to make you think it's not a big deal.  

You shake your head in denial. "They can't do that!"   

"Oh yeah, they can," he objects and you can hear the bitterness he's trying to hide. "I'm not that important in the story, to start with. I'm not a heartthrob like Kili. I'm not a hero like Legolas and a star that makes people buy tickets and come to theaters like Orlando." 

"You’re the heir, a prince of Erebor : the next in line after Thorin!" you protest angrily. You can understand how betrayed and demotivated he must feel right now.  

"I don't think they care much about it," he sighs again as you get back to work and pile off the last remains of glue from his face.

When you're done, he thanks you and stands up. You feel your eyes misting with tears. "I'm so sorry, Dean, so sorry…"

"Hey, come here," he breathes, opening up his arms. "You don't have any reason to be sorry," he says as you snuggle against his chest.  

"Do you regret that you brought me back?" you worry weakly.

"No, never," he states, planting a kiss in your hair, and you know he is sincere.

You hug him back tightly, but instead of comfort, it's fury and ire you feel growing inside you.  

You would probably have had a good reserve of patience and resignation that would have made you accept the production's ill-treatment for a while. You would have dealt with it until the end of the shooting without any outcry. But by targeting the man you love, they have crossed the boundary. Hidden in the crook of Dean's neck, your eyes darken.

_If they want war, they're going to have it._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, don't hold back your thoughts and comment. I always like to know what you think. :) 
> 
> much love xxx
> 
> p.s. you probably noticed that I changed the limit of chapters from 16 to 17. Somehow I'm really bad at evaluating the lenght of my chapters. It may still change a few times even if the rest of the story is already planned.


	14. A Wildcat Strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You feel the exaltation of a warrior just before the battle. You probably can't give back his cut screen time to Dean, but you have the war you were waiting for and a chance to restore the balance of forces on the set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again: This is a FICTIONAL story, it doesn't reflect the reality of the hobbit set, the production policies or the actors' real life. 
> 
> Big thanks and hugs to my marvelous and hard-workind beta, the amazing katyushha.

"You sure you still want to go?" you ask Dean, who's seated at the kitchen table, absorbed by his laptop screen.

"Mhm," comes the answer after a few seconds of morose silence.  

Your lover is unusually taciturn but given the news he has got earlier today, you can't expect him to be cheerful.  It's a bit heartbreaking to see him like that. He is a man to whom smile comes easily, but right now he's down and it’s understandable. You want to comfort him but don't really know how and you still feel responsible for what happened, even if he assured you many times it wasn't your fault.  You really hate to be powerless to give him any emotional relief.

You walk to him and put your hands on his shoulders gently as you stand behind him. He barely reacts to your touch on his tensed body and keeps on scrolling on his twitter's news feed. You know he's not angry at you. He's just locked up inside himself.

"If you still want to go to Aidan's little get-together, I'm going to change my clothes and get ready, then," you tell him.

"Mhm," he repeats absentmindedly.

You lean down and put a kiss on his cheek. It feels like kissing a concrete wall.

You're not the only one who wants to cheer up the blond man because Batman takes his tennis ball from the floor and drops it on Dean's lap. Then, he sits and rests his head in his owner’s lap, looking at him with an expectant gaze.

You smile since it's hard to resist when Batman does his best doggy charm performance. Your boss seems to be determined to ignore his dog as well.

As he doesn't get the reaction he wants, namely: having his ball thrown across the room, the dog nudges Dean's belly with the tip of his nose.

"Batman…. It's really not the time for playing right now," the Kiwi sighs.

You take the ball from your lover’s lap and walk away in the direction of the bedroom, calling the dog. You go to the bedroom and close the door, keeping Batman with you so he leaves Dean alone. The wolfhound lies on the carpet, resigned.

You take off your top and change it into something a bit more chic. You do your hair and tie it up in something you planned to be a sophisticated hairstyle but you finally abandon the project and let it fall freely on your shoulders.  As you fix your make-up in front of the bedroom's mirror you prick up an ear but there's still no sound or sign of life whatsoever from the other side of the bedroom's door so you assume that your grumpy dwarf is still in front of his computer.

When you're done and you're merely satisfied about the way you look, you sit on the edge of the bed as Batman comes by, silently asking to be petted. You ruffle the fur of his big head affectionately. "Don't worry, Batty. Daddy is a bit upset but he still loves you. I know he does." You sigh, plant a kiss on the dog's head and get out of the bedroom.

You're surprised to find your lover just next to the door, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "I'm acting like a real prick, am I?" he asks you with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Shaking your head sadly, you take his forearms and put them around you. "No," you object, "You're acting like a guy who had an especially bad day, that's all."

He sighs, closes his eyes and rests his forehead on yours. "How come you're so awesome with me?"

 _Because I'm falling for you so hard that I don't know if I will ever be able to get up again_ , says your heart. "It's probably a gift of mine," says your mouth, accompanying it by a cheeky smile.

"Yeah, it is," he approves, making a genuine attempt to smile.

You jump slightly when your phone goes off briefly in your jeans’ pocket. You look at your new text quickly.

 

8:20PM-A.Turner- What  r u guys doin'?  We're waiting for u.  

 

During the few seconds it took you to read Aidan's text, Dean starts to leave little kisses on the side of your neck, making you shiver slightly.

"I guess right now would be a bad timing to tell you how much I want you and bring you back to my bedroom, yeah?" he whispers in the crook of your neck.

"Yeah, I guess it would. They're waiting for us" you retort, tugging on his hand to lead him to the house's front door. "Come on, bad boy. I'll give you comfort sex later, promise."

The tiny smile you receive in response is way better than nothing.

You chose to be the designated driver for the night. You don't necessarily want your boss to drown his problems in alcohol, but you figured out that it would be nice for him if he could loosen up and chill out.

As you drive through Wellington's streets, the only thing you see when you peek in his direction now and then is the back of the blond head since your boss is looking outside the car's window in silence. You don't want to invade his space if he needs it so you don't try to initiate a conversation.

It's when you park the car in front of Mr. Turner's house that he finally speaks his mind.

"Maybe it's a stupid question," he begins hesitantly, " but, does it change something for you that I'm not a big star in that movie anymore?"  

The "insecure Deano" : yes, you know that one. He shows up now and then in the turn of a phrase. Not everybody knows that Dean's humility (or rather his tendency to underplay his own accomplishments, talent and beauty) has a lot to do with his lack of self-confidence. But you're aware of that and you know that the only thing you can do is to reassure him in the most honest way you're capable of.

"Hm. I guess that by now you must know that I'm not after money or fame," you reply. "So I hope it wasn't your question, but if by that you mean to ask me if my vision of your acting talent or value has changed, the answer is no. The production stupid decisions don't change anything to my loyalty to you as your assistant. This is just one of the obstacles we are going to have to overcome together in the next year. I'm afraid this isn't the last bad situation we have to deal with, but I'm going to be there for you every step of the way," you explain. You look into his eyes and take his hand to squeeze it gently.  "Because it is what I'm for, right? We'll do it together, Dean, you and I, until the end."

"Like a team," he smiles, squeezing back.

***

 

"Ryan and Mr. Brown aren't here yet?"  you ask Mr. Turner as you toss your jacket on the backrest of an armchair.

"They are going to join us later, along with Stephen," Aidan replies.

"Oh, okay! So, they have a special treatment! They can arrive whenever they want but I'm the one receiving pushy texts!"  you protest with faux annoyance as you follow your boss and the Irishman to the kitchen.

"Well, we have to be at least two to play this videogame and Jess claimed she didn't want to give it a shot, " the younger man explains as he takes a beer pack and vodka out of the fridge.

"I prefer to be the cheerleader!"  Jess shouts from the living room.

"Does our cheerleader want something to drink?" Dean offers.

"Vodka-orange, please!"  she orders.

"Baby, do you want one as well while I'm at it?"  your boss asks you as he takes two glasses from the cupboard.

"Yes, please, but don't put too much vodka in it. I'm driving, remember?" you remind him.

As he pours the orange juice in the glasses, you circle his waist from behind and hug him, breathing in the spicy scent of his perfume and nuzzling his upper back through the fabric of his blue t-shirt. Your lover heaves a content sigh when you press a chaste kiss on the back of his neck. You notice that Aidan is smirking and giving you amused side glances as he uncaps his and Dean's beer.

"So you guys are on a 'baby' basis now? I guess that after the heroic rescue of yesterday's evening, you didn't spend the night playing Scrabble," the curly haired actor hints.

You tighten your embrace around your lover. There is no point in denying it around Aidan. He's Dean's best friend and also the only one to know your true feelings toward your boss.

"We did play Scrabble actually," Dean says.

You raise a suspicious brow.  

"She won," your boss goes on, "because she was able to place one 'y', two 'd' and three 'h' with the word _oh-yeah-Dean-harder_!"

You gasp and the Irishman bursts in laughter.

"YOU.ARE.AN.IDIOT !" you protest in an indignant cry, punctuating  each word with a slap on your lover's flank, which just manages to make him laugh. You didn't intend to hurt him anyway, just punish him a bit.

"You know me, I want details now," Aidan insists.

You step back as Dean turns around. You put your fists on your hips and look at the two actors with a frown.  "I don't think there is still much to tell, since you two don't have any problems having whole conversations about me being a 'greedy little thing', do you, Mr. Turner?"

He looks startled for a few seconds, mouth agape and his beer hanging half way to his lips. His gaze passes from you to Dean who lifts his hands in front of him. "We've been busted, man," he says in defeat.

You point a scolding forefinger at them. "You're both very lucky to be pretty!" you declare before taking the glasses of vodka-orange from Dean's hand and heading up to the living room,  still giggling at the thought of their sheepish expressions.

 

 

"Do you need some help to do your right hand?" you ask Jess as she takes her glass.

"Yes, please. You're an angel," she tells you as you sit on the couch by her side and reach out to take the bottle of silver colored nail polish from the coffee table.

You paint her nails in silence as she sips from her glass with her free hand. As you apply the polish on her long nails, your thoughts immediately go back to your man. You think of the delicious moment, later tonight, when you'll slip under the covers with him at his place or yours. Your day dream isn't exactly sexual—you just think about his warmth, the safety of his embrace and that adorable way he has to rub the tip of his nose on your cheek affectionately sometimes. You suddenly realize that you never kissed his nose and you definitely have to correct that fact as soon as possible.

You feel scrutinized, so you lift your gaze from your task. Your brunette friend is looking at you intensely with a frown of disapproval.

"I know that smile," she comments.

"What smile?" you ask, impersonating the incarnated innocence, even of you know exactly what she is talking about.

"That kind of little dopey smile, I know it too well. You're too smitten," she states, " I'll repeat it one more time : you're making a big mistake, my poor girl."

You clench your teeth and look away. You know she doesn’t mean to be rude but this statement reminds you too much of Great Campbell who called your lover a "poor man" when he talked about you as his girlfriend. You open a new bottle of polish and resume your nail art attempt. She says your name softly so you let out an exasperated huff and don't have much choice but to look at her again. "I know what you're trying to tell me, but you're wrong," you snap, "Dean and I are different."

She shakes her head and sighs. "You don't have any idea how many times I heard that sentence from the mouth of young assistants like you, and every time it ended up in pain and suffering."

"We can make it work, I know it," you object.  

"Gosh, honey! You're really actively shopping yourself a heartbreak, is that it!?" Jess despairs.

You shrug and pinch your lips. You don't want to hear those things, not when the only thing you wish is to feel the rush of adrenaline and bask in the comfort of your new found love. Maybe she's speaking the truth, but you don't want to acknowledge it. Naivety and denial feel so good.

"Okay. Let's assume you're right and you can build a love relationship with your boss despite the restrictive conditions to which we assistants are submitted," she concedes to break your stubborn silence. "Let's hypothetically assume you succeed. It can't change the fact that one way or another, at the end of the shooting you'll have to break up and you won't be allowed to see each other for three years! I hate to be the one shattering your dream but three years, do you really realize how awfully long this is?"

"I know all that already!" you grunt. " But you were the one telling me not to think about the future. We'll cross that bridge when we get there," you add, using Dean's saying.  You're actually not as carefree about it as you would want to appear.  Those three years seem like a huge dark gulf you know you'll have to jump in at some point. It's terrifying.  At the same time, it seems like a distant illusion—something so intangible and abstract that a part of you doubts that it will actually happen one day.

You fall silent for a few minutes, trying to keep the demons of the dark gulf at bay. The boys are still in the kitchen and you wonder if Dean is going to tell his friend about the production cutting off his screen time. Aidan is going to learn about it inevitably but maybe Dean wants to break the news himself. You choose not to tell Jess about it for now, even if you would like to be able to confide to someone.

It may seem silly but the only thing you want is for Dean to be happy, to be proud of himself and his work. You know you're ready to sacrifice a lot of things to achieve that goal.

"Do you really think it possible not to get attached to our bosses?" you ask your friend all of sudden.

"Not to get attached at all? No, I don't think it's possible, but it's possible to protect yourself," she ponders. "Give him your time, give him your support and your body, but keep your heart safe and out of the deal. That's my advice."

"What do I do if he gives me his?" you ask, because by now, you would have to be really blind not to see that Dean has feelings for you.

"I don't want to sound sexist but remember that he's a man," she points out, "men's hearts are less fragile, they don't break as easily and they heal faster. Just don't give him yours or else, in one year from now, he'll leave with it and you'll find yourself empty. "

You can't help but let out the frustration that has been building inside you since the beginning of that conversation. "F**k!" you curse in an outraged huff.  "You tell me all that like I had some control over it, as if it was easy not to fall in love!!! It's not like I can help it, for god's sake!"

"It's more that you don't WANT to help it," she objects.

You snort angrily for all reply.

"Listen, dearie, I'm warning you because it's my duty as a friend," she tries to appease you, "but I won't be a jerk. It's the last time I'm bothering you with that. And after the end of the shooting, when you get to the point when you realize it was never meant to work out, I won't say 'I told you so', I'll just give you my shoulder to cry."

"Yeah, thanks…" you groan before hiding your face behind your glass of vodka-orange as you take a sip. You're not exactly mad at her but more at the fact that she's probably right.

The doorbell rings, giving you the distraction you’ve been hoping for.  

 

 ***

 

Playing FIFA Soccer with your colleagues is actually a very interesting sociologic experience. It helps to size everybody's personality and shows them in a new light.

Aidan is very competitive: he shouts and curses a lot. He also likes to insult his virtual soccer players when they don't quite do what he wants them to do. He is very creative in his insults, calling them "big bags of walnuts", "crusty dick pies" or "shit soaked tool boxes". Generally, while his opponent is laughing at one of his new stupid swear words,  he takes the opportunity to score a goal.

For some reason, everybody has a silent agreement to play easy on Mr Brown before realizing that he is actually very good. The only one who succeeds to put an end to his reign and beat him soundly is Ryan. The tall young man is quite proud of his performance and brags about it, much to everybody else's amusement because he's the only one who doesn't realize that Adam lets him win on purpose.  

Stephen is a groaner. He accompanies almost every of his soccer players' moves with a different growl and when he scores, he literally roars.

You turn out to be a quite decent player. Plus, there is the fact that you don't need Jess since you have your very own personal cheerleader—a blond cutie who cheers loudly every time you manage to get points. When you play against Mr. Turner, your boss is behind you, massaging your shoulders and encouraging you fervently: "let' go, kill him, destroy that Irishman, all my money is on you, darling." Despite all his encouragements, it's Aidan who finally wins. "You fought well," Dean tells you and you blush just a bit. "I agree," Aidan says, giving you a high five.

When it's your turn to play against Dean, everybody is holding their breath, curious to know how it's going to turn out. You watch the countdown before the beginning of the game, your grip tightening around the joypad in your lap and your thigh pressed to Dean's as you are both seated on the floor side by side in front of the big screen. You wonder if your boss is going to let you win like Mr. Brown did with his PA. You ponder that he probably will -- it would be like him.

You were greatly mistaken.  

As soon as your teams of soccer gladiators are left face to face in the arena, it turns… feral.

Dean is merciless and you're no better. Apparently, you can put the same unsustainable passion in fighting each other on a soccer field as in making love in a bed.  

None of you want to leave any chance to the other and you even try to cheat to get the upper hand.  You elbow him in the ribs to make him lose control of his players and he nudges you with his shoulder to do the same.

"You're a dead man, O'Gorman," you hiss.  

"That's what you think," he sneers.  

You get the first goal of the match and you celebrate it by singing and making a little taunting dance. You stick out your tongue at your handsome adversary. He narrows his eyes, ready to take his revenge, which he does not long after by scoring the second goal before you can even make your goalkeeper react. Dean throws his fist in the air with the expression of a war lord who just extended his empire. When he notices the vindictive look on your face, he dares let out a little sassy laugh. "You're cute when you're angry," he coos, taking your chin in his hand.

You bare your teeth and growl.

"Beware, Mr. O'Gorman, she can bite," Ryan warns your boss with a chuckle.

"Yeah… tiny weeny kitten bites," Dean simpers, patting your cheek.

"We're finishing that game or what?" you ask, impatient. You smirk at your boss, "so, big boy, ready to have your butt kicked by a kitten?"

"Bring it on, girl," Dean challenges you, his eyes back on the giant screen.  

"It's going to be nasty," Aidan worries, before biting down in his fist in mock anxiousness.

You and your boss fight like ruthless enraged beasts until the very end, when, part by a fluke, part by a purely vicious move, Dean's player kicks the ball from the other side of the field directly in your net.

"I WON!!!" he shouts, the biggest cheeky grin on his face.  

You just let the joypad fall from your hands on the carpet. You turn your head slowly toward your boss to stab him with your best murderous glare.

"Uh oh," you hear Jess breathe when she sees the fire in your eyes.

You open your mouth to yell and scream to denounce your totally unfair defeat, but before a single sound can cross your lips; your lover throws himself at you, tackles you down on the carpet and silences you with a full-on-mouth kiss. You chuckle in the kiss and try to push him away without much conviction. He tastes like beer and also something else, something sweet you can't quite identify—victory perhaps.

"Oi! Get a room, you two!"  Ryan complains, grabbing a box of tissues from the coffee table and throwing it in your direction.

"Ouch!," comes the protest from above you when said box hits your kissing partner over the head.

"You shouldn't do that, Ry," you chide your tall friend, "you know I'm against violence toward animals!"

"Thanks for the compliment," Dean snickers as he helps you up.

"After that thrilling match, I'm suggesting a break," Aidan declares.  

Everybody agrees to the plan and Aidan leaves to fetch more beers from his kitchen.

 

 

It's Ryan's innocent question that sets the bomb.

He turns toward Mr. Hunter and asks: "We haven’t seen Mercedes for a few days, is she okay? I hope she's not sick."

Immediately, the Kiwi actor looks down, embarrassed.  You throw a look in Jess' direction and see your own discomfort reflecting in her eyes.

You know that, as he stands beside you, Dean didn’t lose anything of that quick quiet exchange and you feel his arm sneak around your waist.

Mr. Hunter clears his throat. "She's pregnant."

A heavy silence falls on the room. This is the moment Aidan comes back to the living room, a six-pack in each hand. He raises an eyebrow. "Did I miss something?"

Everybody looks at Stephen and he takes a deep breath, "Long story short: she's pregnant and the production discovered she was already married in Mexico and they want to clear her. For now she is just suspended. They are supposed to take a decision next week. If they fire her, it will put an end to her working visa and she'll have to go back to Mexico. I won't be able to be with her when she gives birth to our kid and she will be at the mercy of her violent prick of a husband. On the other side, if the production decides to keep her, at the end of her contract, she will be forced to go back to her country anyway and because of the no-contacts clause, I won't be able to see her or our baby for three years."

You gulp - part angry, part sympathetic.

You feel Dean's hand grasp your hip gently as he brings your closer by his side. "You knew about it, didn’t you?" he murmurs.

You turn your head to whisper in his ear. "Yeah, Mercedes told us last week that she was pregnant, but I didn't know the production had suspended her."

Aidan nearly throws the beers on the coffee table ragingly.  "That's real shit, mate. They can't possibly take that decision, knowing what consequences it could have on her, you, and the baby!"

Mr. Hunter shakes his head in silence.

"I think I recognize the signature of our favorite harpy in that bitchery," Jess groans.

You feel Dean tense by your side. "Campbell…" he sneers.  He really hates the woman.

"Who?"  Mr. Brown asks, clueless.

"The very same who expelled Y/N from the set," your boss rages, "also the rudest most disrespectful woman I’ve ever had the bad luck to meet in my entire life."

"You obviously have some personal grievances against her, but that doesn't mean she is responsible for what's happening to Mercedes," the slender Brit objects.  

"She is convinced that the assistants are a bunch of cheap sluts the production had the kindness to save from the streets," Dean adds for emphasis.  Then, he turns toward you, "I'm sorry, I didn't want you to hear that," he apologizes.

"It's okay, " you reassure him.

"Mr. O'Gorman is right, you know," Ryan tells his boss, "I wouldn't be surprised if she was behind Mercedes' suspension. She's the one who deserves to be fired. When I was in her office for her little evil interrogatory,   she actually asked me if the fact I chose to work as a movie set P.A. had something to do with the fact I'm half Asian. Then, as I was too clueless to reply to that weird question, she proceeded to tell me about the fishy web sites that are advertising Asian 'fiancées' and she asked me if my father had met my mother that way. "

Truly, Grunta's comments just make you want to throw up. You also see Mr. Brown's face getting redder and redder with contained anger.

"I couldn't believe she was serious, but she was," Ryan goes on. "When I kind of woke up from my initial shock, I told her, as neutrally as possible, that my mother was a chemist back in Japan and that she met my father when she was working in a pharmaceutics laboratory in Melbourne. She looked genuinely surprised."

"You are too good, Ry. I would have probably punched her in the face if I had been you," Jess declares.

Ryan suddenly notices the crimson color all over his boss's face.

"Are you fine?"  the tall young man asks his boss, worried.

"What she told you, it's horrible, you don't deserve it" Mr Brown mutters quickly, " but I can't help thinking about your interview, the first time we met. I asked you where you were from and when you answered 'Australia', I know I looked surprised.  I'm so sorry. You must have thought I was racist, but it never made any difference to me that you were part-Asian and…"

"Adam…," Ryan cuts his lover in a gentle voice, putting a hand on his knee to calm him down. "I never thought you were racist. There is a world of difference between asking someone where they are  from because you noticed the shape of their eyes, and insinuating that they are more likely to be a sex-worker because they're of a specific nationality."

"You know what, Ryan?,"  Aidan says, taking a beer bottle from the pack and uncapping it. "You have every right to be mad at that woman, but I think she is just jealous because she is ugly as hell and you could be a supermodel."

The tall young man blushes slightly at the compliment. Well, when Aidan Turner himself tells you you're good-looking, it's worth a blush. You still take a mental note to tease Ryan about that later.  

"And I'm sure it's exactly what Adam thought when he saw you for the first time," the Irishman adds, putting the beer bottle in Ryan's hands.  

"That's true," Adam concedes, reassured. "I stayed awestruck for a second and then I asked myself how come such a man would want to work for me."  Ryan smiles and he leans toward his lover to whisper something in his ear, and by the face the Brit makes, you can all guess what it's about.

"Oh, look who need to get a room now," you boss chuckles.

"Okay ! That's all cute and funny, but it doesn't help Mr. Hunter and Mercedes's problem," Jess points out, snapping her fingers to get everyone's attention. "We have to do something."

Conscious that everybody is looking at him, Mr. Hunter takes a long gulp from his beer and he rubs his forehead with the inside of his wrist. "I turned the problem in my head, looking at every angle and it seems that there is no solution. If I could marry her, at least she would be able to stay in New Zealand but I can't since she is already married."

Aidan lets himself fall on the couch near Jess who reaches a hand to bury her fingers in his dark curls.  

With Dean who has his arm around your waist while sipping beer from his bottle casually, Adam who is practically on Ryan's lap and Jess with her hand in her boss' hair, you look like a party of teenagers.  You have an inner satisfied smile. It's like you've collectively said "Fuck Grunta Campbell, screw the production and the rules." You put an arm behind Dean's back and slip your hand under his t-shirt and just under the edge of his jeans to touch the warm skin. He relaxes under your caress.

You feel compassion for Mr. Hunter. You thought you were about to be parted from your lover when you had that argument with him several weeks ago. You know how it feels: the fear of losing your counterpart. But Mr. Hunter's situation is way worse because there is also the baby in the balance.

"If there was any way to convince the production to keep her, at least it would give you more time to try to figure out a solution," Aidan points out.

"The best would be to persuade them to make an exception to the no-contact clause so you can stay with her and the baby after the shooting is done," Jess adds.

"That would be perfect if we could have this clause erased for all of us," Adam says.

His declaration is followed by an awkward silence. This subject is taboo for good reasons. You can see that Ryan is avoiding looking at Mr. Brown, and after that he confided to you his fear of breaking his master's heart; you can understand why he reacts that way. You don't dare look at your own boss either and your gaze stays stubbornly fixed on an empty beer bottle on the coffee table. You never discussed the matter of the end of the shooting with Dean, like you were both consciously avoiding the subject. Maybe it's better that way.

 

"There must be a way to make them listen to us," Dean says.

As you touch the fabric of Dean's soft old blue shirt and tug lightly on the back of it, something lightens up in your mind. "T-shirts…," you say out loud.

A few heads turn toward you.

"Is it an actual idea or are you thinking about ripping his from Mr. O'Gorman's back, because we are all aware of that last part," Jess teases you.

"It's an actual idea," you protest, rolling your eyes.

"It's a genius idea!" Dean exclaims. "What does the production hate the most? Negative publicity! They are counting on our silent acceptance, but if we wear a distinctive mark as a sign of protest, the crew members will start asking questions and try to know what's going on. Nobody can stay insensible to a baby's fate. This will put pressure on the production."  

Everybody seems to be suspicious but they're testing the idea in their minds nonetheless.

"That seems a rather dangerous option," Aidan points out.

"If you have any other idea, Aid, just let us know," your boss replies.

"It can work if we convince the other actors and assistants to follow us," you say to support your boss.

"Yes," Dean approves, "they know they can't fire or sanction us all. They will be forced to listen to us if they want to keep their good image."

You study your man's face as he talks, passion and determination in his pale eyes—the rebel of the good cause. It just makes you want him even more.

A few heads start to nod.

"And they will have to take a decision rapidly if they don't want the images of our protest t-shirts to end up in the DVD extras," Aidan adds, clearly beginning to consider the option more seriously.  

Ryan passes a hand in his short dark hair and relaxes on the backrest of the couch. "That's why we need a good slogan."

"We have to find something that will tell them that if they don't care about the assistants, we do," Adam muses out loud, leaning against Ryan.

"I think it can be as simple as that," Dean ponders.

"We care…," you say quietly.

"Exactly," Dean grins at you, " ' We Care' : it's simple, punchy yet mysterious, exactly what we need."

"What do you think, Stephen? " Adam asks his colleague who stayed silent for most of the discussion.

"It's a crazy plan but if it has any chance to work, I'd say 'let's do it'," he replies.  

"Yeah, let's do it!" you declare, raising your glass of water. Everybody stands up. Six bottles and two glasses toast in agreement.  

You feel the exaltation of a warrior just before the battle. You probably can't give back his cut screen time to Dean, but you have the war you were waiting for and a chance to restore the balance of forces.

 

***

 

"How do I look?" Dean worries as you tie the pink headband around his head and above Fili's wig while your boss waits obediently, seated on a chair in his trailer. After discussing with the others, you've figured out that t-shirts could work for the assistants but not for actors who are in huge costumes when they are on the set. As a solution, you had decided that you would use head bands and scarves for the actors.

Mr. Hunter has a cousin in Wellington who does commercial screen printing and had accepted to give you a big discount. So, three days later, you have a cardboard box full of white t-shirts, pink headbands and scarves adorned with the words "I Care." Of course, Jess, Ryan and you had insisted to choose a pink so fluorescent that it almost makes people blind just to look at it.

"You look perfect," you reply, repressing a giggle. "There is just one thing missing…"

"What?"

You lean down, cup his face and press a loving kiss on his lips. "There, that's better," you smile, running the side of your thumb on his lips to remove a bit of your lip gloss that smeared on his mouth.

He pulls a face. "I look like a gay ninja, do I?"

"What do you have against gay ninjas?"

"Nothing…"

"Good, then. You look like the loveliest gay ninja I ever met," you smile.  

"Oh, that's such a relief," the Kiwi says with a playful smirk, cocking an eyebrow," because I'm sure you met a lot of gay ninjas in your life."

"You would be surprised."

He bursts in laughter. It's so good to see him smile and laugh again.

"You're not going to put on your t-shirt?" Dean asks you.

"Yeah, I was about to," you reply, removing your top and pretending to be struggling with it so you put on a little private strip show just for your lover.  As expected, his hands find your hips almost immediately, pulling you closer. He hums appreciatively and kisses your skin, his lips and the tip of his tongue tracing arabesques on your stomach and breast.

"Dean… ," you protest in a sigh of pleasure, "we have to be on set soon. "

"You said that yesterday too…and we know the rest of the story," he breathes against your sensitive flesh.

You blush widely at the memory of yourself, on your back on the tiny kitchen table of his trailer with your legs spread wide open, your skirt lifted up on your belly and a lovely blond head between your legs as you were writhing in delight on the hard surface. You didn't even realize how uncomfortable the table was. All your body and mind were focused on the sensation of that hot tongue lapping at you with skill and delicacy.

You stretch an arm and grab the white t-shirt as Dean continues to trail kisses on your body. You pass your head and your arms in the shirt but when you want to pull it down; your lover's head is in the way. "We may have a problem here," you point out.  

"I don't see any problem…"  your boss objects.

The t-shirt can stretch enough so you just pull it down with your lover's head under the fabric so you're now pregnant with the head of a ninja dwarf who just chuckles before resuming his kissing.

"Babe…," you sigh, "we still have to knock on the other trailers' doors and distribute the shirts and headbands before the beginning of the shooting."

You release his head from under the t-shirt.  "Spoilsport…" he groans, but he is smiling.

 

 

As Dean heads up to the studios with a few headbands in his pockets, you knock on the door of the trailer number 17 and give Jess and Aidan a few items they can distribute during the morning.

Later, as you head up to Mr. Brown's trailer, you walk into Stella. Her eyes widen with panic but you don't have much time to waste on her case so you just walk around her, keeping a neutral face, like she was a tree or a piece of furniture.

You're surprised to hear her call your name.

"I'm really sorry…. for what I've done, you know," she stutters as you turn around to look at her. "I panicked. I didn't want to lose my job and leave my boss."

You frown. "And as a result, I nearly lost mine."

She averts her gaze and twists her fingers nervously. "I know… I regret what I did. I'm glad you got to come back in the end."

"It's Mr. O'Gorman you have to thank for that miracle."

"Listen," she says, looking genuinely repentant, "if there is anything I can do to be forgiven, I'm ready to do it."

You would probably have been ready to forgive her without turning it into a trade, but the opportunity is just too excellent to let it pass.

"I guess you know what's going on with Mercedes," you tell her.

She nods.

You take a bunch of t-shirts and headbands from your box and put them in her hands. "Convince at least ten people to wear that for one week and you can consider yourself forgiven."

 

 

***

 

In the end, Stella turns out to be one of the most enthusiastic supporters of your cause. At noon, she even comes back to you to ask for more "I care" items because she already gave away all of the ones you gave to her.

By the end of the day, all the dwarves have accepted to join the battle. Even Sir McKellen asked for one of the pink scarves, saying that it was a shame Gandalf didn't wear pink on his costume more often.

The situation is starting to exasperate Peter Jackson a lot since he has to ask the actors to remove their headbands at the beginning of every new shot.

During the afternoon, you suddenly look around and notice that Mr. Turner is alone. You search for Jess but she seems to be nowhere and even Aidan doesn't know where she disappeared to. She comes back around three, a big smile plastered on her face. You throw her a questioning look and she leans toward you to whisper:" I went to studio F where the second unit is shooting. I spoke to Mr. Pace. The elves are going to join our cause."  

You grin back. Who would have thought possible an alliance between dwarves and elves?

During the next following days, thanks to you and your friends' efforts, the "I Care" items spread like wild fire on the set. Soon, make-up artists, cameramen and technicians start asking intrigued questions. Without telling the crew members too many details, the assistants and actors explain that they wear this slogan in support of a colleague, pregnant from a man she met in New Zealand and who risks to be fired and sent back to her country, only because she didn't declare her marriage: a relationship that was over anyway.

You are actually surprised to see how much your strategy is working. Some crew members even ask you to have t-shirts so they can wear them too. Some of them take photos of the actors wearing their ridiculous pink headbands over their wigs with their cellphones.

The whole situation starts to make the production nervous. A few times a day, you can see people dressed in classy suits, popping on the set only to observe from afar for a few minutes, their phone glued to their ear and a preoccupied expression on their faces. They often have a quick chat with Peter before leaving.

In the middle of the week, you all receive an email that informs you of a new dress code that forbids the cast and crew to wear light and flash colors on set. The bogus "technical" reasons they invoke to explain that new rule are so ridiculous that you and your lover burst in hysterical laughter when you read it. You even wet the shoulder of his shirt by crying from too much laughter.

Though, the email has its effect on your supporters and on the day after, there are significantly fewer people daring to wear the pink and white pieces of clothing.

 

"Mr. Armitage told me he won't wear it tomorrow," Ros informs you during the lunch break. "He doesn't want to upset Peter. If he quits, I'll have to do the same," she sighs, "I'm sorry guys."

"I can see through their plan," Ryan hisses, stirring the soup in his bowl angrily, "they want to discover who is responsible for starting that campaign and they know that only the most hard core supporters of the cause are going to continue wearing it despite their interdiction. It's how they are going to be able to isolate and target us."

"The production is just waiting for one zebra to stray out of the herd, and then they'll take it down like starving hyenas," Dean points out.

"I think you're watching too many National Geographic documentaries, Deano," Adam chuckles.

"We can't let them corner us," you worry. They cut your boss's screen time; god knows what they can do to him if they learn he is among the leaders of this operation.  

"If we give up now, they win automatically," Jess adds.

"Well, they can't use the same tactic against us two times in a row," Aidan muses out loud. "I think I have an idea…"

The next morning, Aidan knocks on Dean's trailer door with a box under his arm. In it, there are black t-shirts and headbands with the same slogan. Now, nobody has any excuse not to wear them and the production would look ridiculous to suddenly start to forbid dark colors as well.

At some point during the afternoon, you're chatting with Dean who is sipping the coffee you just brought him, when Aidan nudges you with his elbow. When you turn a questioning gaze toward the young Irishman, he points at a corner of the studio subtly, whispering:" look who's there."

You follow his indication and you see Greta Campbell, trying to go incognito. She's scribbling down notes on a pad and looks pissed off. It's perfect. The angrier she gets, the better it is for you. It means that the production is starting to lose control.

Mr. Turner winks at you. He outstretches a hand for you behind his back and you give him five.

Grunta looks your way. Dean grins and even has the nerve to wave at her.

If stares could kill, your lover would be dead. She gives him a glare of pure disgust before turning on heels and leaving the studio.

"Beware, little zebra," you tell your boss, "I wouldn't want the hyena to spot you."

"I'm just being a good male and attracting the predator's attention away from my female," he replies with a knowing smile.

 

***

 

In the evening, you're relaxing in your bed with your male zebra after passionate hot lovemaking. After long days of shooting and fighting against the production, there is nothing better for two courageous rebel warriors to evacuate the accumulated tensions than a nice roll in the sheets.   

You're lying on your side, wrapped tightly in Dean's arms. He's leaving attentive kisses on your collarbone as you caress his spine up and down with your left palm. Your right hand is buried into his hair, massaging the back of his head gently.  Your lover's mouth goes up to your neck and you tilt your head slightly to give him a better access, moaning lazily.

His touches, his kisses, his smell and his warmth: everything right now just contributes of making you feel good and sleepy. Your body becomes heavier and your thoughts are slowing down. You're on the verge of falling asleep when sudden rock music makes you jump. You realize it's Dean's phone ringing on the nightstand.

Your lover takes his arms from around you and stretches with a groan to take it. The light of the phone's screen in the dark room hurts your tired eyes.

"Nooo, turn it off, Deanie," you protest, "they'll leave a message…"

"It's Aidan," your lover informs you, "I better take it. He wouldn't call me at this hour of the day if it wasn't important."

You hide under the covers.

"Hi, baby bro! What's up?" he chimes as he takes the call. " Really ? … No. I haven't seen it yet… what did it say ?" Dean says.

You remove the covers from above your head and look at him, trying to figure out what's going on.

"Oh… okay… tomorrow morning?" Dean questions his friend over the phone. "This sounds like a trap. I don't like it. Hm … yeah… no, you're right…. we don't have a choice. It's probably our only chance. "

You crawl closer to your boss and rest your chin on his shoulder, trying to listen to the conversation. Your lover seems to think you just want to cuddle because he changes his phone to his other ear, puts his arm around you and plants a quick kiss to your forehead. The problem is, that way; you can't hear what Aidan is saying: just a faint mumbling.

"We have to convince as many people as possible to show up," Dean adds. You have no idea what's going on but it seems serious.  

"Yeah, she is here with me, do you want to talk to her ? " your man says, peeking down at you, " ….. NO ! No Aidan, we weren't … do you really think I would have taken your call if we were on the middle of …. YURK ! You're gross, man.  Yeah, yeah… very funny. Okay, then… take care bro… see you tomorrow… "

"What happened?"  you ask, as soon as he hangs up.

"Aid told me that all the actors and assistants got an email tonight, asking us to show up at the studio tomorrow morning at eight. Apparently the production wants to negotiate."

 You run a hand on his chest tenderly, popped up on your elbow next to him. "It's a good thing, no?"

"Yes, it is," he muses," … at least if everybody shows up."

"You think they won't?"

"I don't know," he replies, tapping his phone's case on his chin gently. "Try to sleep," he whispers, pulling the covers over you, "I'll send a few texts to the others to make sure they're going to be there."  

"Okay but make it quick," you mumble, lying down and hugging your pillow," I want to sleep in your arms."

 

***

 

"Who is your spokesperson?"  is the first thing the tall stranger man with grey hair asks the actors and assistants gathered in the corridor in front of his office.  

There is no reaction – nobody wants to be the lone zebra.  

"We can't negotiate with you all at the same time," the production's lawyer states. "You have five minutes to designate someone and send them in. If in ten minutes nobody comes, we'll leave." Without another word, the man gets back in the office and closes the door.

You all look at each other. All the dwarves, except Mr. Armitage and Mr. Brophy, are there with their assistants. Mr. Hunter is alone. Mercedes wasn't feeling so well, so she stayed at her boss's house, waiting anxiously for news. Dean also managed to convince Mr. Pace and Mr. Evans to come along. 

 "We could draw lots to choose someone," Mr. Brown suggests tentatively.

"What's the deal? We can send any actors as a spokesperson. What can they do to us, anyway?"  Aidan says.   

Dean coughs and clears his throat. "Well, they can cut your screen time."  

Everybody looks at Dean with a questioning gaze, except you. You know what's going on.

"How do you know that?" The Irishman asks his best friend.

"Why do you think I suddenly disappeared from the scene in the goblins' cave? You've seen the scenario, right?" your boss points out.

The curly haired man looks shocked for a few seconds.  "What !? What happened?"

Dean sighs. "I confronted the production, they didn't like it. I don't regret what I did : I did it because I care, and I'm here today for the same reason."

"I'm very sad this is happening to you, mate," Aidan says, genuinely sorry, dragging the smaller man in a bear hug.

Dean pats his friend shoulder as he hugs back. "It's fine, Aid. You'll shine for two."

The others are all looking reluctant, or afraid. You suddenly understand that nobody is going to volunteer to go alone in that office, and if nobody goes, all your efforts would have been done in vain.   

"Dean is right," Mr McTavish points out for everybody to hear. "Nobody here is safe to go in there. Actors or assistants: we all have something to lose."

"Yes…it's true," you lover agrees in a sad sigh.

You know your boss had to be honest with the others, but now that he told his own story: no actor would want to sacrifice himself and risk to be sanctioned by the production.   

"That's why I will be the spokesperson," you decide out loud.

"No…" Dean breathes, trying to grab your wrist as you already walk to the office's door.  You turn around and look at him. You know it's not a good idea to think about it for too long. All your courage threatens to leave you, mainly when you look into those concerned blue eyes.

"I'll go," your boss says.

"No Dean," you state. Your tone doesn't leave any room for protests and right now you don't really care that you called him by his first name in front of the others.  "You've already sacrificed enough," you add before turning your back on him and entering the office before you could change your mind.

 

 

Seated at a table, there is the unfriendly grey-haired lawyer who gave you the ultimatum earlier.  He looks already exasperated even if you didn't open your mouth yet. There is also another important-looking man, and, at the other corner of the table, your favorite person in the world. Grunta looks at you like she's a dog and you are the next tree she's going to piss on.

That's not a good thing that she's there. It will make it more difficult to convince the other members of the production that she deserves to be fired.

"We don't have much time, so this may be quick," the lawyer says. "What do you people want?"

You take a deep breath and try to look confident even if you rather feel like throwing up from nervousness. You wish Dean was there to hold your hand but you have to do it alone, like a big girl. "It's not really complicated," you begin, "we want the assistants to be treated as equals as any other employees. We think that the rule that forbids married people to apply for the job is unfair, and discriminatory. Accordingly, we think that it's not a valid reason to justify someone's dismissal. In short, what wouldn't justify the dismissal of a make-up artist, for example, shouldn't be invoked to explain the one of an assistant."

 "If you're talking about Mrs. Mercedes Estrada, she wasn't suspended because of her marital status but because she made a false declaration on the employment file she signed when we hired her," Greta objects.

"Which would have probably been of no consequence if she wasn't a PA," you retort angrily. Their justifications are so absurdly hypocrite it's nearly laughable.  You clench your fists. "I can't believe you don't have a heart at all," you say. You want to shout but somehow manage to stay calm.  "I can't believe you're not sensible to the fate of a woman and her future baby to the point of not letting her stay here in New-Zealand. You would condemn her to go back in a country where she would be in danger? Will you also deprive a father of the presence of his own child for three years?"

If they are moved by your passionate advocacy, they don't let it show and conserve their gray indifferent masks of cold bureaucrats. "And what will you do if we don't give you what you're asking for?" the lawyer asks you.

"We'll find other ways to be annoying. We are very creative," you smirk.

You see that Grunta is fuming silently. She looks like someone who wants to throw a handful of newborn kittens in boiling water.  She is probably planning herself a nice evening doing some art craft:  make a voodoo doll of you and plant needles in its back, probably.

The grey-haired man shakes his head with a sigh. It's not a good sign. "The no-contacts clause is made for protecting the actors and their private life. We can't start making exceptions to it," he explains.

You suddenly understand that no, they don't have a heart, or at least, they are paid to pretend they don't have one…. and they are really well paid so they will stick to their role to death. There is only one thing that works with that kind of people: threats.

You clear you throat. " Yes. It's important to protect the actors… but who's going to protect us? Some of my colleagues and I have been victims of personal insults: racist and sexist verbal violence from a member of the production's management. I'm not even talking about the threats, the manipulation and the arbitrary abuse of authority," you declare, drilling your gaze in Greta's eyes, not trying to be subtle at all. She goes pale all of a sudden.  "As I understand from what you're saying, the production's priority is to protect the actors," you continue, "so I guess the only option left to me is to go to the police."

The second lawyer, the one who is seated in the middle and who hasn't looked at you since you entered the room, only taking notes in his pad, suddenly lifts his gaze to look at you before exchanging uneasy looks with his two colleagues. Clearly, you just hit a sensitive point. You know they don't want to have to explain to the police they treat a certain category of their employees differently because they basically expect from said employees to be sexual-relief companions for their actors. That the outside world gets involved in their business is the last thing they want.

Greta is fumbling nervously with the collar of her shirt like she wants to tear it up. Her eyes are spitting fire and you ponder for a second why the casting team didn't hire her to play Smaug instead of Mr. Cumberbatch.

"Well, we have heard your request," the older lawyer tells you, putting the cap back on his pen. "Please, wait in the next room while we're taking the decision," he adds, showing you a door.

You nod and get to the empty office without a word. Once you closed the door, you pace in the office for a moment, rubbing your hands and trying to calm down.  You take your phone from your pocket to send Dean a text and notice you already got one from him.

9:10AM – D.O'- Reckless Princess …  :S  Dean is worried.  

The use of the third person to talk about himself makes you smile slightly despite the stress.

9:20AM – [you]-  Dean can keep breathing. I'm still alive. They are making me wait while they're taking the decision. I don't know what to expect.

The reply comes quickly.

9:22AM- D.O'- Whatever happens it's going to be okay. I'll be in the corridor waiting for you, babe.

You don't have time to reply because you are called back to the room where the three members of production's little negotiation comity eye you with contempt they try their best to hide.

"We have a personal proposition for you," one of the men tells you, we can give Mr. O'Gorman his screen time back and make an exception to the no-contacts clause for you and him."

You heart beats faster. This would be perfect. It's more than you would ever hope for. That would be beyond wonderful…. In fact it's too good to be true. It's probably Greta who told the others about the fact you and Dean were an item, since he called you his "girlfriend" in front of her.  It's obvious that they just want to bribe you. They have clearly figured out that you were one of the leaders and they are hoping to make you shut up by giving you personal advantages. They figured out how much you want it.  

"Of course you would have to stay discreet about those… particular dispositions," he adds, which just confirms your suspicions.

"What about my colleague and her baby?" you ask.    

"Well, we can't favor everybody, obviously," the lawyer says. "This would contravene too many of our rules."

You have to find a way to get out of this trap and quickly. You cough, trying to gain time to think. "That wouldn't be very strategic," you point out, "if Mercedes Estrada gets fired, it would be very bad for your image. The crew is already questioning your policies now that they know about it. I can renounce to file a claim if you give me what you just offered… but I fear it wouldn't prevent the others to go to the police. "

The man frowns, displeased. "The definition of an 'exception', miss, implies that it only applies to one person. "

You understand that he puts you in front of a choice: you have to choose between helping Mercedes or the chance to stay with the man you love after the shooting and give him back the place he deserves in the movie. The choice is easy in a way. The baby is more important than you. If you have to sacrifice your own happiness for the one of a child, you'll do it, but still… it's heartbreaking.

You gulp. "I would renounce to go to the police and will put an end to our campaign upon the condition that you keep Mrs. Estrada as an employee and allow her to stay with Mr.Hunter after the end of the principal photography without constraints of any kind."

"Fine," the lawyer declares, "I think we have an agreement."

You heave an inner sigh and feel a wave of relief wash over you.

"But, we can't possibly allow them to…" Grunta begins to protest.

"Mrs. Campbell," the man cuts her, "that wildcat strike lasted long enough; we have to put an end to it without destroying completely the relations between the cast and the production."

"What guarantee do I have that you'll keep your promise?" you ask them.

"You have my word," the lawyer replies.

"It's not enough," you state. You know you have to fight them with their own weapons. You point a finger at a computer and a print machine in the corner of the office. "I want a written declaration signed by the four of us and I want it in two copies: one for you and one for me," you require.

The tall man nods. He doesn't have any reason to refuse you that.

You come out of the office ten minutes later with your copy of the declaration in your hands. You don't have the time to say or do anything when you're already in Dean's arms since he has dragged you in a hug as soon as you stepped in the corridor. You take a moment to hide your face in his neck and breathe in his soothing scent. You wish for a brief second you had chosen you and Dean instead of Mercedes. As much as it hurts, you know in your heart that you have taken the right decision in the end.

You feel Jess' hand rubbing you back gently. They probably think you got bad news. You break the embrace with your lover and turn around to face Mr. Hunter who looks at you expectantly.

"I have good news for you, sir," you say with a bright smile, "you're going to be a dad!" You hand him the paper sheet. He takes it, looking puzzled. "They won't fire her, you'll be able to see your baby born and grow up," you explain. 

The corridor of the human resources' department explodes with cheering, applause and happy exclamations. Aidan drags you in a spontaneous tango that makes you burst in laughter. When your Irish friend finally lets you go, you join Dean who’s been watching you from afar with a loving smile. You can see that he's not jealous of Aidan anymore. He trusts you:  knowing you're his and he's yours.

Since everybody else is too occupied congratulating Mr. Hunter to notice you, Dean circles you waist and brings you closer. "You're the best," he whispers before sealing his lips to yours in a heated kiss.

 

***

In the evening, the others are at a pub celebrating over a drink but you don't feel like going out. Instead, you choose to stay at home and relax. You deserve it after all, since you brought back the peace in the magic kingdom of the Hobbit set…. partially at least.

It's around ten and you’ve just lightened up a few candles and stepped in the hot perfumed water of a nice bubble bath when you hear your phone ring. You reach a hand out of the bath and take your pants from the bathroom floor. You dry your hands on it before taking the phone from the back pocket.

You have an inner smile when you see the caller's identity.

"Hey, babe! Are you busy?" Dean beams when you take the call clumsily, trying to prevent your phone from getting wet.

"No, can't say I'm busy, but weren't you supposed to go out with the other boys?"

" I was. I left earlier," he explains,  "since I'm still in your neighborhood, I thought I would pay you a visit and kiss you goodnight, but if you want to enjoy some time alone, it's fine, I understand."

You don't melt at those words; it's more than that. You literally dissolve yourself in the bath water. "I'd like to have a goodnight kiss," you assure him," or else I'm going to have nightmares." It would also be a good occasion to talk because you feel that after what has been happening lately, there are still things that need to be discussed and clarified.  

"I'm going to be there in ten minutes."

"Perfect. The door is unlocked, just get in - I'm in the bath."

"Oh really?" he rejoices, "It's going to give me something to think about while I'm driving."

"Naughty boy," you say fondly before hanging up. You put your phone safe aside and sink in the foamy water with a delighted sigh.

Ten minutes later you hear your front door open and the sound of construction boots on the floor. The door opens and a blond head peeks inside the bathroom. "Oh… with candle lights, cozy much," Dean smiles.  He walks into the bathroom and kneels before the bath.

"Good evening,"  you murmur as he puts a cool hand on the side of your neck. He leans forward and puts a soft kiss on your lips. "Hmm, you're all warm," he comments in a purr. You lift your chin and plant a kiss on the tip of his nose.  He wrinkles it in the most adorable manner and you take this opportunity to flick some foam from the bath tub on his cheek and chin playfully.

He collects it from his face with a chuckle and uses it to slick his blond hair back.

"Give me two minutes to get out," you tell him.

"Nah, you don't have to. You seem so comfortable in there, don't get out for me," he retorts, resting his back to the wall. "I'm going to sit just there and wait patiently until all the bubbles disappear," he winks.

 

You both fall quiet for a few moments.

Dean rests his head on the wall and closes his eyes. He heaves a long sigh. "What a day…"

"We haven't really won, have we ?" you wonder, " I mean, it's only a half-victory. We didn't get rid of Greta Campbell."

"No victory is ever total. There are always losses on both sides," the actor reflects. "Life isn't a Marvel comic movie. Villains don't always get punished, but now Campbell knows she can't say or do whatever she wants. I think she will keep a low profile from now on. I hope she understood the message when I told her she better not lay a finger on you."

"Your girlfriend...," you breathe. 

He pulls a face, "hm… I said it on the heat of the moment. I shouldn't have."

"Why?"

"Because I can't ask that level of commitment from you. I think it's easier for both of us if we don't put any label on our non-professional relationship."

"Okay…" you reply. You would lie if you said it doesn't sting a bit.

"Don't mistake me," he hastens to say," I care for you a lot and I love spending time with you. I really do."

He seems sincere but you feel a lump forming in your throat and you gulp. You don't like where it's going. It sounds too much like a break-up speech.

He runs a hand in his hair before continuing. "I just don't want us to have expectations that can be deceived or to make each other promises that we wouldn't be able to keep in… the future. You know what I mean?"

"You mean at the end of the shooting?"

"Yes, that's mainly what I'm talking about."

You don't reply. It's hard to accept but you can't deny the wisdom of those words.

"You must think I'm an asshole right now," he sighs when he sees the sour expression you're trying to hide.  

"I'm not sure what I should think, to be honest."

"When I got the job on the hobbit and I chose you as an assistant, I never expected I would get attached to you that much. It's a bit scary. I loved a few women in my life but there are two of them for whom I fell hard. One of these relationships lasted for one year and the other lasted four years. You want to know what those two relationships had in common?"

"Dean… you're not forced to tell me about you exes."

"In fact I think I have to, even if it doesn't excuse anything," he decides.  "What they had in common is that I didn’t see their end coming at all. I was happy, I was in love head over heels and at the moment I was suspecting it the least, the girl was telling me that it was over. I don't know if it's because I was naive, or a complete clueless idiot… either way it's what happened both times. It felt like being hit by a train and it left me completely broken. After Rachel, it took me so long to heal that I became very mistrustful when it came to relationships. I didn't want to be hurt again. I didn't engage myself in anything serious since then."

It confirms that Emmett was telling the truth about his friend. You nod and let him continue.

"But with you it's different; you give me the desire to try again, even against my own will: first of all because you are an awesome person, and also because this situation is a kind of relief for the coward I am. We are not like other couples. We don't live in uncertainty. We already know the relationship is going to end and we know when.  I can see it coming. It won't take me by surprise. It gives me the security I need to open up to you …. but at the same time, it makes me scared of hurting you. I don't want to play with your feelings."  

You bite your lip and pretend to be very interested by your nails for a few seconds. You try to play it cool even if there is a lump in your throat. _What would be worse ?_ you ask yourself : _giving up now, missing all the experiences you could live through with Dean in the next year but avoiding the biggest of the heartbreak OR stay, fall in love even more and take the chance of being emotionally destroyed when the shooting will be over?_ You know that leaving is not an option anymore. Anyway, you already tried that and it didn't work. You choose the pain and suddenly realize that it’s somehow always been the only choice. "I knew what the deal was since the first time we slept together. I knew what the consequences could be," you reply.

He stares at you sadly for a moment, then, he takes your hand and kisses the back of it. "I'm a stupid man," he murmurs, pressing your hand to his chin with his eyes closed.

"Why are you saying that?"

"Because I know that despite being prepared for it, I'll be heartbroken when we are going to have to part, and still, I want to give you everything while I can," he tells you.  

"I'm glad you're a stupid man, then," you smile softly.  

You love Jess, but what she said is bullshit : men's hearts are just as fragile as women's.  You hold Dean's heart and he holds yours. The only question is : who's going to drop it first ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouff, that was a long run. Sorry it took me so long to update but it was a 25 pages long chapter: a huge one. There was a lot of plot lines to sort out. 
> 
> Brace yourself, lovelies, because with the next chapter, we make a leap in time. The action will happen ten days before the end of the shooting. 
> 
> Big thanks and hugs to the few poeple who take the time to write a comment. You have no idea how important it is for a writer to continue a story.


	15. Barrel of Monkeys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the shooting is near. Soon your boss will have to move back to Auckland. In twelve days, his house is going to be empty, as if everything you lived through here never happened at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took one million years to update that story. You probably gave up on me and nobody probably reads that anymore ... but yeah.  
> I'm planning to post the remaining chapters before the middle of the summer, so it won't take 4 months before the next chapter. 
> 
> Seven millions hugs and thanks to my super-woman of a beta who stayed up all night to correct this chapter. I feel privileged to have such a dedicated friend. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This story is only fiction, it doesn't have anything to do with the real actors or their real lives. 
> 
> Warning: accidental aidean (Aidan/Dean) (oops... sorry, not sorry)

"Babe? Are we out of coffee filters again?"

"Did you look in the cupboard under the sink?" you ask your lover, leaving the bedroom and going to the kitchen where the desperate question just came from, your hands busy gathering your hair in a ponytail.

You hear the creaking of the cupboard door before you get to peek into the kitchen. "Oh. Yes. They are there," he realizes. "Thanks."

"They are always there," you tease the blond man, joining him behind the counter. "When you're distracted like that, it's usually because you have a new idea," your tell him, toying with the waistband of his jogging pants as he sets the coffee machine. You slip your hands under his t-shirt and caress his still bed warm back.

"You know me well," he chuckles. "Yeah, actually, it's been a couple of days that I can't figure out what bothers me with the photos I took last week and when I woke up this morning, I realized I only have to lower the saturation and add a bit of motion blur in the background."

You hug him from behind and kiss the side of his neck. "Are you telling me that you were thinking about color saturation and motion blur while we were making love?" you scold him.

"Nah. I thought about it before you jumped on me like a hungry tigress," he says playfully, turning around to face you, all dimples and bright blue eyes.

"Pfft, you were as hungry as me, as I recall."

"Hard not to when you wake me up naked under my shirt," he purrs, circling your waist to bring you closer.

You know he likes when you're wearing his flannel shirt with nothing underneath so you wear it as pajama most of the time. After one year and a half it kind of belongs to you now. He never wears it anymore but makes sure it is clean so you can take it whenever you're at his place. 

"I'll be downstairs if you need anything" he tells you, grabbing his mug and pecking you on the nose before heading up to his office.

A soft brushing of fur on your leg makes you look down. Batman is seated at your feet with an expectant gaze. He knows that it's Sunday morning: the time for his walk to the dog park. "I'm sorry to disappoint you but I can't today, I have important things to do," you tell the wolfhound, ruffling his hairy head before heading up to the large closet next to the front door. You take an empty cardboard box out of it, sighing loudly.

On the Hobbit set, the crew members are used to wearing t-shirts with an inscription on the back that says how many days are left before the end of the principal photography. Yesterday, when you arrived at work, you felt a lump in your throat when you saw the number "10" on the back of a camera operator's tee. How did it pass so quickly? It seems like only one week has passed since the first time you walked in that room of studio B and a gorgeous blond actor had outstretched his hand saying: "Hi! I'm Dean O'Gorman."

You tried to delay the inevitable, but you can't anymore. You have to collect your things from Dean's house. Soon your boss is going to have to move back to Auckland. In twelve days, this house where you kissed, laughed, cuddled, talked, cried, argued, made up and made love, is going to be empty, as if everything you lived through here never happened at all. You feel at home in your boss' house since you barely use your little flat near the studios anymore. Throughout the shooting you spent almost all your time outside the set here.

You hear the muffled sound of your lover's music downstairs as you close the bedroom's door behind you. You want to take the opportunity while Dean is busy editing his photos to collect your stuff around the house. You need to do this alone. It would be awkward if he was there. You know he would get sad to see you remove all the evidences of you presence in his life… and to see him upset would surely break your own heart that is already on the verge of shattering in millions of tiny pieces.

You open the closet and start taking your clothes out of it and shove it in the box. You stop a few seconds with the blue lace dress in your hands. It's the dress he offered you for your first private party together, that one time when he was wearing that cop costume that drove you crazy. You have a small bitter smile as you fold the dress carefully and place it into the box. You remember the passion of that night: the first time you slept together. You were wild, new lovers back then. You still have a lot of desire for your man, it seems like nothing can extinguish the attraction you feel for him, but as your relationship went on, this explosive heat settled in a more comfortable, tender sentiment that binds you strongly, in and out of bed. Things have changed between you and him, a lot. The affection and the tenderness are still there, but your love for Dean has grown stronger as you got to know him better. You are an item, in an established relationship in every way. You've seen all sides of Dean, the sexy ones and the less glamorous as well. Your feelings toward him don't have anything to do with the "oh my god, I'm banging an actor" of the start anymore. Him telling you : "oh, it's this time of the month again. Let me bring you a hot bottle and give you a backrub," is not something unusual. You telling him:" I saw these boxer briefs at the store and thought you'd find them comfortable so I bought a pair for you. I also brought a pair of socks because your black ones have holes in them," is not odd either. The only exception is that you never use the word "couple", "girlfriend" or "boyfriend" to describe what you have together. The three words "I love you," have never been said either. You know it's a way for you both to protect yourselves from what is coming, and now it's coming very fast. 

You have one of your shoes and you are searching in the dark, on the closet's floor, trying to locate the second one, when you touch a suspect bundle of fabric. You bring it to the light and recognize it immediately. It is a black polo shirt with the words Gaiety School of Acting above the front pocket: Aidan's shirt. You chuckle fondly as you dive, head first, in your memories.

***

 

8 months earlier…

Catcalls, cheering and clapping welcome Jess back as she steps down the small stage after her performance. You congratulate her as well: she really is a natural with a pole. You can't help but admire her talent at pole dancing, she managed to look sexy, but classy and gracious at the same time. To be honest, you couldn't expect less from your brunette friend.  
You fiddle nervously with your orange bracelet as Mr.McTavish plunges his hand in the bowl to draw another name. You start praying it won't be yours. The invitation to the private party said to dress comfortably. It was also specified that every boss/PA 'couple' also had to choose a catchy song for the other and keep it secret. Knowing that Beyoncé's music is your boss' guilty pleasure, after a quick search on YouTube you had chosen _Lose My Breath_ by Destiny's Child. 

It turned out that the party is a pole dancing contest. That’s what the song was for. You should have expected that kind of thing, knowing that private parties are meant to be the kingdom of depravity, but still, you're not sure you want to perform a sexy dance on that stage in front of every one of your colleagues. You know it's made to be funny, but you have the jitters. You nearly envy Mercedes who is too heavily pregnant to participate.

Dean comes back with a Blue Lagoon for you and a beer for him. He gives you your drink and steals a kiss from your lips. You barely have the time to take a sip before your worst fear becomes true and Mr. McTavish calls your name. Everybody cheers and chant your name: everybody but your lover who sees you stiffening. Mr. Brophy tries to push you to the stage playfully, but you throw a panicked glance at Dean above your shoulder. You shake your head and mouth "I don't want to do it."

"There is no rule against choosing a champion; right?" Dean asks Mr. McTavish, "I can volunteer to dance in her place."

"Hm, well," the Scotsman ponders, "there is indeed no rule that says you can't."

"I'll do it then," the Kiwi decides as you give him a relieved smile. Your dear Deano: always the knight in shining armor, ready to save your honor.

The DJ starts the song Dean has chosen for you: Enrique Iglesias' _Dirty Dancer_. You look at Dean, stunned. "Enrique Iglesias !? Seriously!? Is it really what you picked for me to dance to?!"

"I had no idea what to choose!" Dean protests in his defense, "It's Aidan who said I should take that one!!!"

"Yeah," Aidan adds in a chuckle, "the lyrics say 'she's a greedy girl to never get enough', I thought it was fitting."

Dean shrugs with a smirk and you roll your eyes for only reply. You being Dean's "greedy girl" should be getting old by now, but Aidan loves to tease you with it too much to ever stop. 

"Someone has to get on the stage now," Mr McTavish calls them to order.

"Fine, fine, I'm going," Dean says and he climbs on the stage obediently.

"Woot! Go Dean!!" Adam cheers as Dean starts dancing. Well, "dancing" is maybe not the best word to describe what your lover is doing to that poor pole right now. Your eyes widen. Your boss is basically rubbing his crotch against the pole, biting his fingers and batting his lashes, trying to look as ridiculous as possible… and it works… 

"Oh good Lord! I swear that I'm not working for that man!!! I don't know him at all… never met him before," you tell Jess and Ryan who are standing by your side, not able to contain their fit of giggles. You're hiding your face behind your hands, only looking through the spaces between your fingers, not knowing if you should laugh or be mortified as Dean moves his hips from side to side, caressing his own chest and faking to be especially delighted by it, like some girl in a shower gel ad. 

His colleagues and their PAs are all dying from laughter.

"I can't let him humiliate himself alone like that," Aidan states. "They want sexy?" he tells you, speaking about the spectators, "I'm going to show them sexy," he decides. The brunet jogs across the room and jumps on the stage to join his friend. He leans down to speak in Dean's ear and the blond man nods with a naughty smile.

"I don't know what they are up to, but I don't want to miss a second of it," Jess says.

Aidan makes Dean step back until the blond has his back against the pole. Aidan places one hand on the Kiwi's waist, his other hand grasping the pole and pinning Dean to it. The Irishman puts his knee between the blond's legs and starts to move against his best friend's body in slow waves of his hips. Dean leans back against the pole, completely empowered, and it seems that he's enjoying it to no end. Soon, he starts moving too, his own hips accompanying Aidan's moves.

You feel heat creeping to your face. "Oh.My.Fu****.God," you hear Jess curse. Her mouth is slightly agape and she can't tear her eyes from the show: and apparently, she is not the only one.

At some point, the boys step away from the pole and the brunet makes his friend spin around in his arms. He brings Dean flush against him, fingers of his right hand spread on Dean's stomach and the right one grasping his hip to keep him close as they dance. The blond man rests his head back on the taller man's shoulder and closes his eyes, letting himself be guided by the younger actor.

You know your lover and his best friend don't feel any attraction for one another: but they are actors, and actors are quite good when it comes to pretending. The way they move: the way Aidan holds Dean possessively against his body and makes him do whatever he wants: it's steaming hot. The temperature climbs even higher when Aidan takes off his polo shirt and throws it in your direction. You catch it and you watch Dean turn around, put his hands on the Irishman's shoulders and run them down his chest, slow and teasing. The blond devil even dares give you a saucy wink. Then, he wraps his arms around the brunet's bare waist without any modesty. By the end of the song, Dean's t-shirt is gone as well (removed and tossed away by the Irishman) and Aidan's butt has gotten a few good grabs, courtesy of his Kiwi friend.

"Wow guys, that was… whew!" Adam comments, fanning himself as the boys step down the stage to join you and your friends.

"I was fighting the urge of tucking money under your boxers' waistband," Ryan agreed.

"Oh yeah. I think there is nothing that can erase those images from my mind now," Jess purrs. "If Mr McTavish draws one of your names, I demand another performance like that, and I'm ready to pay for it!"

"We should have kept on, Aid, we would have made a ton of cash," your lover tells his friend in a chuckle as he puts his t-shirt back on.

"Who knew that we had such a brilliant strippers' career ahead, Deano?"

"We still have to find ourselves a name," Dean points out. 

"Hm," Aidan ponders, "I'm thinking 'the jewels of Erebor'."

"That's genius," Dean beams as everybody bursts in laughter.

"Can I have my shirt back now?" Aidan asks you.

"I'm afraid you can't," you smirk, hiding it between your back.

"Nah you can't," Jess supports you.

For the rest of the evening, you make a point of keeping out of his reach so when the party is over, he has to go back home bare chested. It's you who ends up with the piece of clothing hidden in your purse and it became a running gag on set.

***

Aidan often asked news of his stolen polo shirt and you always promised to give it back, until you lost it in Dean's house. Now you know it had been at the bottom of the closet the whole time. You go back to the kitchen, put two slices of bread in the toaster and grab your phone on the counter to text your Irish friend.

-10:37AM-YOU-: Hey Aid! You won't believe what I found in the depths of Dean's closet.

-10:38AM-A.Turner-: His heterosexuality?

-10:38AM-YOU-: LOL Nah. Something we thought lost for a very long time.

-10:40AM-A.Turner-: Hm…. Greta Campbell's sense of humor?

-10:41AM-YOU-: OMG! Rofl. I don't think that ever existed at all. Guess again.

-10:41AM-A.Turner-: Gimme clues?

You bite a corner of a toast before replying.

-10:44AM- YOU-: It's black and it smells like male strippers.

-10:44AM-A.Turner-: MY SHIRRRTTTTTTT !

-10:46AM- YOU-: Touché! :D I'm bringing it back to you tomorrow morning at work.

-10:44AM-A.Turner-: Thanks :)

The phone stays silent for a moment as you finish eating your breakfast, until it vibrates again.

-11:57AM- A.Turner-: u r packing your things to move out from Dean's, aren’t you? 

You feel that heavy stone coming back in your stomach again. It's a kind of emotional pain you often experience these days, as the countdown before the end of the shooting is ticking in your head.

-11:58AM-YOU-: Yep… :(

-12:01PM- A.Turner-: If u need to talk or something, u know I'm there, yeah?

You swallow down sudden tears threatening to spill out.

-12:02PM-YOU-: Thanks for offering. U r a true friend.

-12:03PM- A.Turner-: Anytime, darling.

If anything, you feel even sadder now. It's not just a lover you're leaving behind but also close friends. You go back to the bedroom, dragging your feet. You bring the box back to the living room. You grab your slippers from under the couch and put them in it along with the warm blanket Dean gifted you when you were stuck in Palmerston North. You try not to think about the fact that last night was the last night you would curl up in that blanket to watch movies with your lover.

Something on the window sill attracts your attention. You take the ugly little doll made of grass and it nearly disintegrates in your hand. After all those months, the grass has dried and made the doll brittle. You honestly don't understand why Dean kept it but you suspect that for him, it's a kind of symbolic artifact. Maybe it reminds him of the obstacles he succeeded to overcome: like a war booty in some way. It's you who made the doll as you were on locations, filming the infamous scene 88. While the PAs and the cast were waiting between takes, seated in the long grass of the New-Zealand plain, you were making those little dolls by tying handfuls of grass together and were giving them to the cast members so they could destroy them to take out their frustration. Filming that chasing scene had been a real hell for all the cast. They had to run, and run, and run again, pretending to be escaping wargs. The actors were drained, but they had to reshoot it again and again.

At the end of the first day of shooting that scene, you ended up in your boss's small trailer, seated on the bed, holding a completely worn out Dean. You rocked him gently, petted his hair and kissed his forehead. Tears of exhaustion were running down his pale face as he was repeating: "I don't want to do it again. I won't be able to do it again." You had never seen him so vulnerable. He was like a little boy in your arms, begging for comfort, and you gave him the best you could, until he fell asleep snuggled against you, with the salty traces of his tears still marking his handsome face like battle scars.

The following day, Dean had dark circles around his eyes and the make-up artists had to apply more foundation, but he didn't give up. He fell asleep in the grass between scenes but he still managed to shoot them all. As you were really proud of your brave warrior, when the end of the day finally came, you rewarded him with a special treatment: a long massage with warm oil and kisses all over his aching body. He had fallen asleep like a baby and as you watched him sleep, like many times before, you dared whisper your true feelings for him: "you are very courageous and strong, my beautiful love. I love you so much, baby." The whole drama was that you could never tell him those things when he could actually hear them.

On the morning after the end of the shooting of scene 88, he confessed to you: "Sometimes I tell myself that I'm about to drop dead and there is no way I'm going to be able to shoot the next scene, that I won't be able to bear the exhaustion and the discomfort one more day, then I remember that whatever happens, I'm going to finish my day in your arms and it helps me to go on."

That's one of many moments when you felt blessed to do the job you're doing.

You open the bin's lid and throw the remains if the grass doll in it. It makes you sad to get rid of it, but you have no choice because it's turning into dust already and you doubt that Dean would really want to pack it in his boxes and bring it back to Auckland.

The shooting on locations haven't been just a torture, though. All the actors would probably say that their favorite day was the one of the barrel scene on the Pelorus river.  
No green screens this time: there were only them, the nature, the water and the barrels. Of course, the production had made everything possible to assure the security of their precious actors. They had tested the river with stunt guys in barrels beforehand. But still, the testosterone-filled cast were all excited by the perspective of doing something dangerous. At first, you must say you were worried for your lover. You knew that Cold water + Dean O'Gorman = nothing good. First of all, swimming is not his favorite activity. He has a tendency to feel cold quickly. For him, a day at the beach means running in the sand with Batman, read a book and snap pictures of the sea. Your concern faded a little when you realized he didn't seem reluctant to shoot this scene. Thanks to Aidan, whose enthusiasm was contagious, Fili looked like he was even looking forward to following his brother into the water and go down the river in a barrel. You still kept a watchful eye on your blond master from the river side as the dwarves were taking place in their improvised escape boats. Dean's first reaction when he got into the water was a typical man's one: "arrrhhhg! My BALLS! MY TINY LITTLE BALLS!" he squeaked.

"Is it cold?" the guy who was filming for the DVD extras asked your boss.

"Oh yeah," Dean confirmed with a laugh," it shrunk to a mere six or seven inches."

You giggled. _'I think you're overestimating your dimensions a bit there, honey'_ , you thought.

"A mere seven inches, huh?" Jessica asked you in a whisper.

You winked at her for only reply. Of course, Dean's size isn't that big that it would be seven inches once in cold water, but you had to entertain his good image of super virile stallion. 

Your worry came back when Mr. McTavish noticed that Dean was shivering. "Yes, I'm really cold," Dean replied, when the scot asked. Fortunately, Mr Turner was there once again to save the day and he prompted his friend to imitate him and do push ups with his hands on both sides of his barrel. They managed to warm up a bit this way.

For the rest of the day, it's been only joy and jokes. The guys were obviously having a blast and were funnier to look at than barrels of monkeys.

At night, still shivering and his lips all blue from the cold, your baby was explaining to you how amazing it was, his eyes sparkling like the ones of a kid back from a school trip to the zoo, as you tried to bring back some blood in his frozen limbs.

 

Another advantage of working with actors is that they have no problem with looking ridiculous.

Anyway, after nearly two years of talking to tennis balls and fighting against green pads that are supposed to be trolls, giant spiders or wargs, none of them mind looking a bit crazy from time to time.

Dean and Aidan love to compete against each other. It's always a game to see who's stronger, faster or bolder. They are used to taking their costumes off after a day of shooting while walking back to the lockers to see who can take it off quicker. Jess and you didn't mind that kind of little competitions, until they targeted you. After shooting the scene in Laketown where Bard hides the dwarves in barrels of fish, your men were purely disgusting, their costumes soaked and giving up a stench of rotting fish. Their new idea of challenge was: the first who succeeded to catch his PA and hug her until she is covered with fish juice would win. As a result, you and your brunette friend ended up running away, trying to escape two stinky dwarves. It's Dean who won. It didn't take him much time to corner you behind the locker-room door and drag you into the dirtiest hug of the history as you were screaming in protest. Half an hour later, trying to fit both in Dean's tiny trailer shower, you were still laughing.

 

The cardboard box under your arm, you cross the living room and go into the bathroom where you know you have a few hairpins, a hair brush, earrings, a half-empty pack of tampons, and a toothbrush to pack. The pink bath puff Dean bought for you before you came back from Palmerston North joins the other items in your box and you're about to leave the bathroom when you notice the long, tacky, yellow necklace hanging on the door handle. It’s there for so long now that you don't see it anymore when you use the bathroom's door. You take it off the handle, wondering if you're going to keep it. It's not beautiful and it has no value whatsoever, but it's almost like putting your ear to a shell and still hearing the sound of the waves in it: as the plastic beads run between your fingers, you feel your heart beating faster. You swear you can still hear the sensual rhythm of the Cuban music and taste the taste of the tequila on your tongue. All over again you can feel the heat and humidity of that summer night, Dean's arms around you, his breath warming your neck and the perfect state of happiness you were in.

 

***

5 months earlier…

You are just chatting and relaxing with Jess in Dean's trailer after a long day of work shooting the scene in the forest, near the Trolls' cave. Your boss is busy scrolling his photo website while listening distractedly to your conversation with your friend when an over-enthusiastic Irishman pops in the trailer. Being exuberant is Aidan's normal state so none of you is especially disturbed by the sudden apparition. 

"Guys ! Guys! Look what I found!" he beams, waving a piece of paper in your faces, too quickly for any of you to be able to read what is written on it.

There are three slightly unimpressed pairs of eyes on him, just waiting for him to explain what was going on, because when Aidan is excited about something, there is no way he's going to keep it to himself.

"I found this flyer on the ground in the trailer park! Contigo are doing an outdoor show tonight in Auckland!!"

"Contigo…?" Dean asks, clueless. Clearly, he doesn't know this group/singer. You have no idea what it is and the face Jess is making tells you that she doesn't know either. 

Aidan raises his eyebrows, obviously taken aback. "None of you knows Contigo, the Cuban music group!?"

You and Jess both shake your heads.

"I was dancing to their music when I was doing ballroom competitions," he explains. "Their lyrics are really cheesy but it's in Spanish so it's forgivable. COME ON' GUYS! We should go ! It's going to be fun !!!" he pleads.

"You know we are not supposed to go out together, right?" Jess reminds her master.

"I know,"he whines, "but pleeeease, just this time! Nobody will know! I'll ask Graham and Richard to cover us. It's going to be dark and crowded. I can wear my cap and lend my fedora to Dean. We can wear sunglasses; we're going to be super incognito!"

You exchange a side-glance with Jess, not convinced by Aidan's genius plan.

"Sunglasses at night!? We're going to look like douchebags," Dean points out.

"It's a Cuban music show, Deano, there are going to be douchebags everywhere anyway. The sunglasses will only help us be camouflage amidst the local fauna."

Dean huffs and concentrates on his laptop screen again.

"Girls?" Aidan asks, full of hope, giving you his best supplicant puppy-eyes look. Jess shrugs and you sigh.

"I'm going to buy all your drinks and I'll be the designated driver," he adds in a last attempt to convince you all.

Dean lifts his gaze from his computer, grins and stretches out a hand. "Where is that fedora you were talking about?"

"YES!" Aidan beams, elbowing thin air. "Are you in, ladies!?"

“Fine! If you insist,” Jess replies and you echo her, hoping you won't get in trouble for breaking rule number one. 

 

Contigo's music is not the best music you ever listened to but it is obvious that the musicians and singers are having fun being there and the ambiance is nice. The show is outside, in a park decorated with multicolored paper lanterns in the trees and it gives a magical atmosphere to the place. Also, there are enough people for your bosses to become anonymous members of the crowd. You have to admit that the fedora hat suits Dean actually. But what you like the most tonight is his smile. He seems relaxed and just enjoying himself. He always stays close to you, with a hand on your lower back, his arm around your waist or his fingers laced with yours. It's something he usually doesn't allow himself to do, but tonight you've all declared it the night of freedom. 

A bar sells tequila and rum drinks and Aidan pays a few shots for the three of you. Apparently, the barmaids are giving necklaces with the drinks and the brunet brings back a yellow one for you, a green one for Jess and a pretty purple one for Dean.

After a few rounds of tequila shots and lemon, you start to feel a bit lightheaded. At some point, Aidan makes you sit on his shoulders so you can see the show above the crowd. Later, you climb down and join your boss as the Irishman dances with his PA. Dean, who doesn't possess his friend's skills for social dance, so he just circles your shoulders from behind and swings you gently from side to side to the rhythm of the music. You sigh from contentment, putting your hand on his forearms placed across your breast.

"Te quiero, mi corazón," he whispers in your ear, his voice husky and low.

You smile and lean back in the embrace. You're slightly confused, though, because "te quiero," can both mean "I love you," and "I want you." Did Dean just tell you he loves you? Giving the way he said it, it was probably the second meaning.

"Te quiero, papi," you reply softly. And you know that you mean both. 

***

It was a night to remember because for a moment, it made you forget that you were working for the shooting of a movie where several millions of dollars were involved, that you had to watch everything you said or did every second not to be fired and lose the man you love. For a moment you forgot you were doing something wrong and forbidden: you were just two couples of friends enjoying a nice night out. You knew that you had to cherish and live fully that moment because it would never come back, and you were right since you never had the opportunity to go out together with you bosses for the rest of the shooting.

In fact, that's not entirely true; you ponder as you walk back to the living room and put your full box on the couch. There was this one time at the art gallery. It didn't really count as 'going out' with him, but it was what you did together that was the closest to a proper date you could get.

 

***

1 months earlier…

"Where are we going?" you ask him for the fifth time.

"It's a surprise, I can't tell you," Dean replies for the fifth time as well, as you feel him take a turn and slow down. Then, you hear him stop the engine.

You're toying with your blindfold as he opens the car's door and helps you step out. You'd like to try to peek at your surroundings through the space under your blindfold, but you fight your own curiosity and keep your eyes closed under the piece of fabric.

You hear him fiddling with keys. He opens a door and leads you in a building. It's a large, empty space because you hear his voice echoing in the room when he instructs you not to move while he turns the lights on.

Soon, he is back next to you, his warm hands roaming your waist from behind. He presses his lips to the back of your neck, making you shiver. "Are you ready?" he asks you in a whisper.

"Yes"

His fingers untie the blindfold and you open your eyes. You put a hand over your mouth to muffle your gasp. On the large white wall you're facing, there are giant reproductions of Dean's stunning Vietnam War scenes and portraits.

"Where…where are we…?" you stutter.

"Page Blackie Gallery," he informs you.

"But… these are your photos!!!!"

"Yes. It's because it's my exposition," he explains, a smile in his voice as he steps aside to look at your reaction.

"It's wonderful, baby!," you exclaim; excited, surprised and proud. "And you told me nothing!" you scold him gently, grabbing his shirt to pull him closer.

"I wanted it to be a surprise."

You stay between his arms but turn to look at the photos again. "Dean… that's… wow!"

"You like it?"

"That's an understatement. You worked so hard on that project, and your photos are wonderful!" you tell him, holding him tight against your body and resting your head on his shoulder in a way that you can still stare at his artwork.

He nuzzles your temple and trails kisses across your forehead. "I wanted to bring you here today because giving the production's stupid rules; I can't invite you to the official opening on Friday. The owner of the gallery lent me the keys so I could place the photos where I wanted them to be. We have the place for ourselves all night long."

Dean lets go of you to fetch things in his car. He comes back with blankets, candles, food and wine and you have a romantic picnic on the floor, in the middle of the exposition gallery.

When you're done eating, you keep on chatting and sipping wine together. You're sitting and Dean is lying down on his side on the blanket, propped up on his elbow. With the soft light of the candles, he looks like a bearded angel.

You both fall silent and you lose yourself in the contemplation of Aidan's portrait. You can feel Dean's gaze on the side of your face. "I feel like this is as much my accomplishment as it's yours," he tells you suddenly putting his wine cup aside.

You shake your head. "It's your art… I don't have anything to do with it…"

"That's not true," he objects. "You are the one who helped me get one of the locations I needed for the group shots, remember?" His blue eyes soften. "It's also that day that I finally grew a pair and kissed you," he tells you, with the look of a man who's about to propose. Of course, you know it won't happen. 

"Yes, I remember," you smile. "That's not something I can easily forget ."

"You've been there all along, every step of the way," he goes on as he sits up and shifts to a kneeling position in front of you. He cups your face and looks into your soul. "You've been my helper, my muse … my inspiration. I don't think I would have had the courage of propounding my art to one of Wellington's most prestigious galleries if you didn't convince me that my photography had potential. I wouldn't have done it without you."

Happy tears are tinkling the corners of your eyes as you close them to let him kiss you. It's very soft and loving at first but it soon grows passionate and devouring. He pushes you gently until you're on your back on the blankets and he is above you, tasting your mouth like it’s chocolate.

"Why do I want you so much?" he murmurs against your lips.

"I don't really know, to be honest," you chuckle.

"I can think of at least ten reasons," he smiles, a twinkle of desire and mischief in his eyes.

"Only ten?" you tease.

"Oh, there are many, many more, but I only have until the morrow to show them to you, " he purrs, his mouth tracing a hot path to your neck.

"He…here?" you mumble.

"We're alone…no one can interrupt us."

That's not humanly possible to resist that…to resist him. You never thought you'd make love on the floor of an art gallery one day, but life is full of surprises. You unbutton his shirt and he undresses you. You let go and surrender, let him take you and appease his male lust. You have no choice but follow him into bliss: you let him possess everything: your body and your heart. You mewl for him. You moan for him. Even your climax is nothing but an offering on the altar of his manly beauty.

Sated and elated, you rest on your back on the floor, wrapped in one of the blankets. Your lover is at your side, playing with your hair and caressing your cheek. "I'm sure I was Ghandi, or Buddha, or someone else equally awesome in another life," he muses with a content sigh. 

"I'm sure you were, but what makes you think that?" you ask him, turning your head to meet his loving gaze.

"Because I must have accumulated a lot of good karma in my past life to be that blessed in this one."

***

A lick on your cheek brings you back to the present day and you realize it's Batman licking the tears off your face. You weren't even aware that you were crying. You put your arms around his neck and bury your face in the sand colored fur. "I'm going to miss you too, Batty," you hiccup, drying your wet cheeks with your sleeve. The dog's presence manages to appease your pain slightly.

It's so awful to be so deeply in love and to suffer that much from it. 

As you let go of him, the dog lies down on the carpet and you lie with him, your head resting on his belly as you watch the ceiling fan above you, trying to erase all thought from your mind, just concentrating on the dog's breathing under your head.

You hear footsteps in the stairs and your lover appears. "Am I interrupting something?," he jokes, a fond smile on his lips. 

You shake your head silently.

"What are you up to?" he inquires before his eyes catch the sight of your box on the couch.  
His smile falls instantly. "Oh…. you're packing your things," he realizes. 

"Yes. I had to do it sooner or later," you state. 

"Hm. Yeah. I was planning on putting some stuff in boxes tonight when you would be gone; I have procrastinated on it for too long now. To be honest, I didn't look forward to doing it."

"I guess that nobody really likes that kind of task," you observe.

"It's not really what bothers me," he explains, sitting down on the couch. "It's more the fact that actually packing my things makes it all more… real. You know what I mean?"

"I know what you mean."

"Can I?" he asks, pointing at the floor beside you.

"There's enough room for three," you reply, still moving a bit to the side to make space for him but keeping your head on Batman's belly. 

Dean lies on the floor by your side as you both stare at the turning vanes for a while.

"Ten days, huh?" he sighs.

"Ten days…" you echo, a painful lump forming in your throat once again.

There is a man's hand that slowly reaches for yours on the floor and squeezes soothingly.

This one year and a half was amazing: filled with incredible experiences that you're going to carry in your heart and your memory for the rest of your life. You managed to follow Jess's advice and live in the present, live every moment without thinking of the future, but now you realize that living like there was no tomorrow is exactly the same thing as living thinking that Dean was going to be by your side forever. You find yourself completely unprepared for what's about to come in the next week. You're about to lose the love of your life and you haven't seen it coming at all. For one year, the train was speeding toward you all along but you had your back turned on it. You refused to hear its warning horn. Now you've just turned around but it's too late, you're blinded by the headlights and you don't even have the time to panic before the fatal impact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you loved it, please let me know why. It really makes a difference, I swear.
> 
> FYI- "papi" means "dad" in spanish, but it's also used as an endearment for a man, like "baby" in english


	16. The Sheep from the Goats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this story is still written and updated, it has much to do with the constant support and help of my dear Katyushha. I can't thank her enough. 
> 
> BONUS : I made a playlist for the story. You can find it here: http://8tracks.com/oursesolitaire/the-so-called-lovebirds  
> Give it a listen and enjoy! :) 
> 
> Disclaimer: Fictional work. This doesn't have anything to do with the real actors or their real lives. 
> 
> WARNING: tears, tears, tears, TEARS !!!!!!! (you're been sufficiently warned: there will be tears)

"Do you realize I never saw you without a beard, apart from in photos and in the Johnsons?" you point out, thoughtful.  
"I hope you won't be too disappointed by the change of look, then."  
"I'm sure I won't be," you state with a smile, turning the electric razor on, "do you want to say a few words in honor of your beard before I kill it?"  
Dean frowns for a few seconds, trying to find the right words to say farewell to the facial hair that he sported for nearly two years. "You scratched, you itched, you won't be that missed," he says solemnly, making you crack up.  
"Fine," you chuckle, "let's do it, then."  
It's obvious that your lover doesn't like his beard and never have. He always said he looked ridiculous and after the very last shot of principal photography, one hour ago, his first reaction was one of jubilation. When he walked by the "behind the scene"-camera, he beamed "it's going! I'm taking it off!!" while scratching his chin for emphasis.  
Dean rests his head back on the top of the backrest and closes his eyes as you proceed to shave his face carefully, leaving just light stubble. As you watch his hairs falling on his t-shirt, you can't get rid of the feeling that this is like a passage rite that marks the end of an era. When you're finished, you dust his face and his throat with a towel and you take a step back to appraise your work. Your lover opens his eyes and looks at you with a relaxed smile.  
"So? What does it look like? You're not too shocked?"

You gulp. You're not exactly shocked but he looks different indeed. You can appreciate his manly jaw line better and you notice for the first time the little virile crease crossing his chin. He is very handsome, but this sight fills you with sadness. It takes you a few seconds to understand why you're reacting this way. Dean with Fili's beard is the man you fell in love with. Maybe this new Dean who looks definitely younger is a stranger: another man…not yours anymore.  
He seems to see your trouble because he reaches a hand to take yours. "I have to attend the official wrap party tonight," he says, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb," but we have six hours until then. Maybe we can take the car, pick Batman up at home and drive somewhere… anywhere… just you, me and the furry baby boy. Would you like that?"  
"I'd love that," you murmur.  
He stands up, never letting go of your hand and takes your lips in a reassuring kiss. You realize you were wrong as you kiss back. This isn't another Dean: it's still the man you love so much it hurts. Somehow, realizing that doesn't make it any better.

***  
Usually, when he drives and you're on the passenger seat, Dean's favorite place to rest his free hand is on your thigh. Once again, his hand finds its familiar spot above your knee as the car speeds up on the highway. Looking outside at the landscape, you enjoy for a while the patch of human warmth on your thigh and the gentle squeeze, but, at some point, you take his hand gently and turn it to look at the inside of it in the soft light coming through the car's window. His dry palm is smooth and crossed with a lot of thin lines, like a map with a hundred roads. You follow one of the roads with your fingertip. You wish you could read the good fortune in hand lines: this way you'd know if he is going to have a brilliant career and a happy life. You wish him the best for the years to come because you love him too much to imagine anything else than success and bliss for his future. Your most profound regret is that you won't be there to walk those roads with him. You lean down and press your lips to the middle of his palm, closing your eyes and inhaling. There is a faint scent of oil paint, but it mainly smells like the hand soap in his bathroom. You fill your nostrils with the Kiwi fragrance of the soap. A Kiwi that smells like kiwis can't help but make you let out a stupid giggle.

"What's funny?" he inquires.  
"Nothing. You smell good."  
"And it makes you laugh?"  
"Don't mind me. I'm a little crazy, in case you haven't noticed it by now," you tease.

His eyes leave the road long enough for him to turn his head toward you and smile. "I did notice. But I like you that way."  
You kiss the back of his hand and each one of his knuckles, taking your time to feel his skin on your lips. You look at his beardless profile through your lashes for a while since he has now his eyes back on the road. He is still smiling but there is a sad wrinkle in the corner of his mouth that makes your heart tighten.

 

***

There is a place, North of Wellington: a little park with a few picnic tables on the side of the road. For some reason, the park is desert most of the time despite the fact it has a magnificent view on the ocean. It's not the first time you go there with your boss. You used to spend time here whenever Dean was about to leave to work on the Almighty Johnsons, or before the breaks between the shooting blocks when you knew you would not see each other for a few days or a few weeks because Dean had to go back to Auckland. It is the place of the goodbyes. But every time you came here before, it was before a temporary separation; you knew you would miss each other, but that you would be reunited soon. This time, the separation will not only be a temporary one.

Your lover pulls the car in the parking and you both stay seated in it for ten minutes, waiting for a couple of tourists who are walking their dog to leave. When you are finally alone in the park, you take Batman out of the car and clip his leash to his collar. You walk to a picnic table and your lover joins you. Something odd that you can't exactly pinpoint makes you frown, until you realize what's wrong: your boss doesn't have his camera with him. He literally never goes anywhere without it.

"You forgot to take your camera, babe?" you ask.  
"Nah," he says, shaking his head," I left it at home on purpose." He puts his arms around your neck and kisses your forehead. "I didn't want anything to distract me."

You rest your head on his shoulder and nuzzle his collar bone revealed by the used neck of his old white t-shirt. You circle his waist with an arm and hold him close.  
Maybe it's the fresh wind in your hair, the sound of the waves crashing at the foot of the cliff, or maybe the sensation of the ocean spray on your face that makes you feel like it's a dream. But the dull pain tells you it's more a nightmare. You're surely going to wake up soon.

Yes. Exactly. This is just a nightmare and soon you are going to wake up in the little beige house in Seatoun, in Dean's arms. He's going to kiss you deeply and you'll like it, despite the morning breath. He is going to slip his hands under your pajamas top, caress you and then proceed to take your clothes off to make love to you. Then, you'll probably stay there for a while, kissing, touching lazily, and trying to find animal shapes in the weird patterns of his stucco ceiling. Then you'll get up, turn on the radio and eat your breakfast while chatting and commenting the morning man's choice of music. You'll give Batman bits of toast and jam when Dean is not looking. Later in the morning, as you'll be carrying a laundry basket across the living room, your lover is going to grab you by the hips to kiss the back of your neck, and that's when you'll tell him :" by the way, I had such an awful nightmare last night: I dreamt that I had to let you go, not being allowed to speak to you for three years and not knowing if I would ever see you again." He will laugh, surely. He'll tell you that he has no intention to leave you. Your day will get on as usual and you'll be back to work on set the day after.  
Yes. It's what is going to happen; because there is no way that what is happening right now is real. It's just not right.

You walk around the park with Batman who is as happy as usual and doesn't seem to suspect anything. With his nose as a tool, he's busy being the archeologist of scents: trying to establish the pedigree of all the dogs that wandered there before and left smelly artifacts.

Dean stops suddenly and since he holds your hand, you don't have any choice but stop as well. You turn around to face him. "What's the matter?" you ask.

He is avoiding your gaze, kicking the dirt with the tip of his combat boot. Then, he lifts his head and you can see your own distress mirroring in his eyes. But yours is closer to the surface. He, on the other side, is still trying to be the unbreakable man: strong in arms and heart. "This doesn't have to be over," he tells you. "I mean, at some point we are going to be allowed to see each other again."  
"Three years, Dean…" you remind him in a long sigh.  
His gaze drops again in defeat. He knows he can't ask you to wait three years for him, and you know you can't ask such engagement of him either. The pragmatic part of you knows that a lot of things can happen in three years: new jobs, new projects, new experiences, new life goals, new friends… new loves. Within three years you can become very different people; two people who would maybe not be able to reconnect after so much time apart.  
"Fuck," he curses, dragging you into a tight embrace once again. "Fuck. I hate this. You can't know how much I hate this," he repeats.  
"Oh, trust me, I can," you object.

Only thirty-nine now.

Thirty-nine hours before losing him. Thirty-nine hours before the last time you will look into those blue eyes and see them looking back; thirty-nine hours before you die inside.  
Your heart has already started cracking. It will take the tiniest breeze to shatter it now.  
You can't allow yourself to cry. It will only make things more difficult than they already are. Neither of you needs this.

 

***

Dean drives you back to your flat in silence.  
Tonight is the wrap party for the actors and, of course, the assistants are not invited, but tomorrow night is the last private party. It's in the morning after that party that you'll be separated from your boss for good.  
Therefore, you also know it's the last time you're going to see Batman.

When the car stops in front of your building, you slip to the back seat and put your arms around the dog's neck. Confused by your distress, Batman tries to comfort you, wagging his tail without conviction and putting tiny licks on your cheek. You pet the wolfhound and kiss his big nose, swallowing a dry sob. "You're going to be a good boy, huh Batty?" you tell him, holding his head to look into his light brown eyes. You know that Dean is watching you in his rear-view mirror so you lean toward Batman to tell him a secret. "Take care of your daddy," you murmur in his furry ear as you give him a last loving hug. "Cheer him up when he's sad and bite any women who would try to be a bitch to him." It's barely a whisper because the lump in your throat prevents you from speaking any louder and anyway, it's meant to stay between Batman and you.

As you stand on the sidewalk and watch Dean's car disappear around the corner, you pull your jacket on your shoulders, suddenly feeling cold even if it's quite warm outside. The cold you feel has nothing to do with the temperature: it comes directly from inside your soul.

You get back to your apartment: you eat ice cream and watch movies until you pass out on your couch from exhaustion. When you wake up in the morning, you crawl reluctantly to the bathroom to take a shower. You make the very minimum effort that is required to be at least presentable since you have to welcome people that are going to visit your flat today to rent it when you'll be gone in a few weeks. Since you find yourself suddenly without a job and don't have any intention to try to find another PA job on a movie set, Mr. Hunter and Mercedes offered you to live in their basement and to hire you as a nanny for their little Juan. You couldn't really see yourself living all alone after losing Dean, and having people around would surely help you not to swim in a pool of your own tears constantly.

You haven't found anything to wear for the private party yet, and you were initially planning on going shopping with Jess and Ros in the afternoon, but apparently, the ad your landlord put in the New-Zealand Herald has been quite interesting because it is 3PM now and people continue to arrive to visit your flat. For some obscure reason, your landlord expects you to be there during the visits. At some point, you text Jess to tell her you're not going to be able to make it.

At five, it's your lover who texts you. He’s just come back from bringing Batman to the dog boarding where he's going to leave him until he is done emptying the house. He asks you if you want to go to his place, take a coffee and get ready for the party with him. Be with Dean a little more is exactly what you want and need, but life has apparently decided otherwise and you have to decline the invitation.

You're supposed to be at the party at 7:30PM and it’s 7:05PM when the last visitors leave. You are in a total panic mode. You only have ten minutes to get changed in anything decent you could find in your closet and do your hair before the driver, who has probably already picked Dean up by now, arrives at your place. Your phone rings just at the worst moment: it's for verifications about your passport renewal and you can't really ignore it. As a result, when you’ve finally hung up, you are still wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, your hair is messy and you don't have any make up on.  
The doorbell rings and you jog to answer it, letting out a groan of frustration.

As soon as you open the door, your breath is caught in your throat: there stands a gorgeous man in an aubergine shirt, a black suit jacket, a black tie and matching trousers. He has slicked his mane back with hair product and a rebel, golden strand that has refused this treatment is curling free at his temple.

"Good evening, young lady," Dean says in an affectionate tone.

You honestly have never seen him so classy. A rush of desire suddenly overwhelms you. You want to run your hands on his shoulders and touch his arms through the fabric. You feel like Cinderella when she meets her prince: except that the fairy godmother has obviously forgotten your address because you're still dressed in rags.  
"Are you ready?" your lover asks you, "the driver is waiting in the street."  
"I don't know if I could be less ready," you yelp, gesturing to show him your horrid clothes before literally running away in the direction of the bedroom, followed by your boss who doesn't seem to understand why you are so alarmed.

"I don't have anything to wear," you wail, throwing all your clothes from your drawers to the floor in your frantic search. It's your last night with Dean, there is no way you're going to look like someone who’s just come back from a trip to Walmart to buy a hoover.  
"Why don't you wear the blue dress I gifted to you, you look lovely in it," he suggests.  
You take it reluctantly from the box you brought back from his house. You love it but it seems like it is old now. You would have liked to wear something that would have taken his breath away – something that would have made you look at least half as gorgeous as he is tonight. Ashamed, you strip down to your ugly, mismatched undies and put the dress on without more fussing. Dean puts a reassuring kiss to your shoulder as he helps you zip it at the back.  
"I don't have any time to do my hair and put on makeup, I guess," you ask, biting your lip as you turn around to face him.  
"I'm afraid we are a bit short of time, babe," he apologizes.  
"I look like the Grinch!" you complain, grabbing the first pair of high heels you see in your closet.  
Once you have your shoes on, he cups your face with a fond chuckle. "You look like a rose bud. You don't need any makeup to look beautiful." He presses a gentle kiss on your lips. "And I can do your hair while we're in the car if you want," he offers you, grabbing your purse from the couch as you're searching for your keys.  
"Should I be afraid of entrusting you with my hairdo?" you tease him as you lock your door.  
"I know how to braid," he replies, serious, following you downstairs "I was a scout when I was young."  
"I thought scouts were only learning to make knots," you remark as you open the front door of the building.  
"A braid is a kind of knot, isn't it?" he states, leaning down to steal a bright red flower from your neighbor's potted geranium.  
"If it's the way you see it, I'm greatly reassured now," you wink.

He opens the black SUV 's door for you like a gentleman and you get in.

The driver greets you and right away, he starts the engine and takes the road leading to the chic hotel where the private party is taking place.  
You twist on the seat to give your lover access to your hair. He cards his fingers through it since you don't have any brush. You can feel that he's really trying to be cautious but it's obvious that braiding someone's hair is not something he does every day because he is pulling without meaning to. You know he's doing his best so you clench your teeth and keep your ouches to yourself.  
When he's done and has secured the braids with the hairpins you were keeping in your purse, you peek at yourself in the rear-view mirror and you can't help but note that your hairdressing is not really smooth or symmetrical, but Dean looks so proud with his work that you don't dare make a single critical comment . He's looking at you with sheer adoration as he takes the geranium flower from his suit pocket and fixes it behind your ear gently. "You look sublime," he whispers, putting the orange bracelet on your wrist. His gaze shifts from your eyes to your mouth in turns as he leans forward slowly, like this is a first kiss. You place your hand on the back of his neck and you greet the warmth and the moist of his lips like the precious gift it is. It's back and you can't help it: the lump in your throat.

***  
"What happened to your hair?" Ryan asks when he sees you. You hasten to elbow him in the ribs to make him shut up. Fortunately, Dean, who is busy speaking to Mr. Armitage, hasn't heard the remark. Your poor PA friend doesn't understand why he was attacked so violently before you explain the hair situation to him in a whisper. "It's not ugly," Ryan reassures you, putting an arm around your shoulders. "It's just cute: like it’s your six year old cousin who did your hair."

To be honest, you don't mind if your hair looks like it survived a magpie's attack: as long as it makes Dean happy.

The conversation with your colleagues drifts to the good moments you lived on set with them: the anecdotes and running gags you all remember from the work on set. With your PA friends, there is definitely nostalgia in the air as you remember the camping trips between the shooting blocks, the windsurfing in the bay and the Saturday afternoons spent on the beach.

The DJ reduces the lightning and turns on the music. Your orange bracelet is exchanged for a red one and you find yourself dancing with the curly Irishman with a bright smile. The next song is a slow one and you put your arms around your friend's neck without any shyness: you are way past this by now.  
"How are you coping?" he asks you.  
"Could be worse," you admit, "I think my brain doesn't really process yet that it's all over and that we're not going to go back on set on Monday. Maybe it's just a clever trick from my mind not to put me into total panic."  
Aidan shoots a glance back to be sure that Dean is still talking with Jess. They seem to be in an animated debate.  
"Did you speak to Deano about your feelings? Does he know?" the irishman asks you.  
"He must know, or else he is very blind," you reply, "but no, I never actually told him I loved him… at least not with words."  
"Maybe you should. It can't change anything, but I'm sure he'd like to know how you feel about him deep inside."  
"I don't know," you ponder, staring at your lover from above Aidan's shoulder. "I think it's too late. If I told him now, he'd probably feel forced to express similar feelings. And I think it would make things even worse for us both." You bite down your lower lip to prevent it from quivering and your eyes from misting with unshed tears.  
"Hey, darling," Aidan breathes, "it's fine."  
"I'm going to miss you, Aid," you confide.  
"Yeah, me too," he smiles, stepping back to look at you, his hands still on your shoulders. "But heh! In three years, when we're all going to be grown-ups, I'll make a mega reunion party in Ireland and we'll all get drunk together," he beams.

As he says that, he is tapped on the shoulder politely by a blond Kiwi who asks him if he can get his lady back. "She's all yours," Aidan smiles, taking the bracelet from your wrist.  
"How is it going?" Dean asks you, putting a kiss to your temple once you're alone together.  
You force a smile. "I'm fine," you lie.  
He doesn't have the time to say anything else because the room suddenly gets completely dark. When the music of Lord of the Ring begins and the logo of "The hobbit" is projected on the white wall, you understand what is going on.  
"What's that?" Dean asks you sotto voce.  
"You'll see," you reply with a smirk.

A few weeks ago, you and the other assistants prepared a little surprise for your darling masters. You asked Peter the permission to have access to the wardrobe and the prosthetics. All the assistants dressed up as their boss' character and you made a parody interview video.

The first to appear on the screen is Jess, with Kili's wig, his prosthetic nose and his fat suit and heavy costume. She even tried to draw some stubble on her face with a sharpie. You hear Aidan burst in laughter at the sight.  
Ros, who doesn't appear at the camera, was seated behind it and was playing the role of the interviewer. "Can you introduce yourself?" is her first question, to which Jess replies, imitating Aidan's bright smile, low-pitched voice and Irish accent with undoubted talent.  
"Can you tell us about how you work on set?"  
"No matter if I get on the set at 5 in the morning or 5 in the afternoon, I'm going to sulk for at least half an hour. I ended up working for The Hobbit because I tried to audition once to play one of the dwarves in Snow White and they said too grumpy to play Grumpy. "  
"That's so not true!" Aidan protests, but everybody knows it's quite true: and Aidan knows about his legendary cranky moods himself.  
This video was made without malice and in good humor, just to tease the actors a bit and make them laugh, which works so far. Ryan looks purely adorable in Ori's cardigan, Stella seems completely lost in Dwalin's huge muscle suit and you can barely see Ros' face under Thorin's big wig.

The cutest moment is probably Mercedes, dressed as Bombur and trying to stay serious and not giggle as their son she is holding in her arms is trying to grab and bite the large prosthetic chin. As her interview goes on, you start fiddling with your bracelet nervously, because you know you'll be the next to appear on the screen and you don't know how Dean, who is standing by your side with his arm around your waist, is going to react. But it's too late and after the screen goes black briefly, a very weird version of Fili appears on the screen. For once you were able to understand how disagreeable it was to have to deal with the braided mustache and the prosthetic nose.  
"Oh wow," Dean laughs when he sees you in his costume, "I never thought I could look so wonderful."  
"Can you introduce yourself?" Ros asks You/Fili.  
"Hello, my name's Dean O'Gorman, and I'm probably the only one who can remember that my characters' name is Fili and not Kili."  
Your remark elicits knowing laughter in the audience. There were indeed few people who could get Kili and Fili right. Even Peter was not able to tell them apart.  
" Tell us a bit about you, Dean," Ros asks you in the video.  
"A-bit-about-you-Dean," you blurt out as an answer in a one-in-a-go sentence, giving a shit-eating grin to the camera. The assistants laugh again because it's totally like your boss to act that way. Mr Hunter knows what a pain in the arse Dean can be when he's trying to make a vine and asks your lover: "say hello, Dean". There is at least 90% chance that the answer will be "hello-dean" and that your boss will find himself very funny while hiding it poorly.  
Your lover has obviously recognized himself in your parody because he giggles, saying: "that's my girl."  
You remember that, at this moment, when you were shooting the video, Ros was rolling her eyes at your silliness, so you chose to answer her question with a bit more seriousness:  
"Okay, okay fine. I was born in Auckland in 1976. I'm an early bloomer: I was only ten when I realized I was good looking and decided to become an actor, and I was only nineteen when I realized I was even better looking than Ryan Gosling."  
"I take it as a compliment," Dean purrs into your ear.  
"Oh, I knew you would," you reply.  
"Is there something embarrassing about you that you'd like to confide to the camera?" Ros asks your imitation of Dean/Fili who nods as a reply, mustache beads swinging from side to side, before answering: "Sometimes I wear the same t-shirt four days in a row without washing it, hoping that nobody will notice. If someone makes a remark about it, I pretend I own several similar shirts…. but it's not true. Everyone has to know the truth: I only own one blue v-neck."  
You can hear exclamations of outraged disgust. You hope your boss won't feel betrayed that you said that. But it's the truth. Your artist of a lover does not take a lot of interest in earthly considerations like fashion and clothes: which is oddly one of the traits you love about him.  
"Wow, thanks Dean. It takes a lot of courage to share your lack of personal hygiene with us," your red-haired female friend comments in the video.  
"You're welcome."  
Before the screen turns black and the video ends (since you were the last one to be interviewed) you blew a kiss and waved to the camera, and this kiss was meant to lend on a specific person among the watchers.

The lights come back in the room as the actors clap wholeheartedly. You turn to your side to gauge Dean's reaction. "I'm sorry I'm an old, stinky dwarf," he apologizes, but he wraps his arms around you and you can see he is not offended at all.  
"I see no old stinky dwarf," you reassure him. "You are my adored, dirty boy."  
He smiles, delicate laughter lines hollowing at the sides of his blue eyes. Even when he's not smiling, they are still apparent. One second later, when a sudden emotion makes him look rather sad: they are still there. It makes you realize that while he is not an old man, he's not exactly a young one anymore. But you don't mind: he would probably still take your breath away no matter what age he would be. Even those little wrinkles: you find them sexy. You put your lips just under his left eyebrow to kiss the wrinkles as he closes his eyes. Your only wish would have been to be able to get old with him and see new lines appear on his face: be there to kiss them.  
The pain now, at the idea of losing him starts to be uncontrollable. As if it wasn't enough already, the DJ puts The Power of Love. Not that you especially like this music. Celine Dion wailing like a banshee is not your favorite thing in the world, but right now, hearing _"your voice is warm and tender, a love that I could not forsake, cause I'm your lady, and you're my man,"_ seems like a treason from the universe.  
"Seriously, who chose that DJ?" you complain.  
"Just pretend it's another song," Dean tells you gently, rocking you in his arms to the rhythm of the slow dance.  
You obey, letting your breath mix with his and holding on to the nape of his neck like a boat to its anchor. "I'm going to miss you so much," you murmur, staring down at the perfect cupid bow of his lips.  
"I'm still in denial," he answers in the same tone. "I don't even want to think about how much I'm going to miss you."  
Much to your relief, the song ends and the Dj puts another one. But it's like he does it on purpose:  
_If I should stay, I'll only be in your way_  
_So I'll go, but I know_  
_I'll think of you every step of the way_  
"I Will Always Love You" is a blow under the belt: one stab too many. "Are you kidding me?" you growl.  
"Let's get out of here and go back to our room," Dean suggests. He takes your hand to lead you out of the ball room. You follow him more than willingly.

***

Your lover's intentions are quite clear since as soon as you step into your hotel room and he has locked the door, you suddenly find yourself pinned to the wall by his strong body and his fingers are already searching for your dress' zipper behind your back.  
"I want you now," he pleads in a whimper.  
"Take me, then," you reply with the same fervor before letting him lick his desperate way between your lips. Your shaking hands undo his tie and make his suit jacket slip off his shoulders. You want him with urgency you rarely experienced before. Your whole being is demanding your lovers' attention and ordering him to act about that bottomless need that wants to be filled.  
There is no place for kink or Kama sutra experimentations. Once he undressed you, you simply lie down on the large bed and offer yourself. You watch him taking off his shirt and his eyes never leave you as he strips down. He stands there, completely naked, like he has nothing to hide, and his gaze feasts on your curves as you appraise his body against the faint street lights that come in through the curtains. His face is serious, like he is performing an important ceremony, when he crawls on the bed to blanket your body with his. You shiver. This solemn expression makes him even more beautiful and desirable. "Let me make you mine one last time," he whispers. You only nod to give your assent. The tears are so close. You know that if you open your mouth to talk, they will take this opportunity to spill out, so you stay quiet and try to show him your burning desire through your expression.

He leaves a few kisses on your neck, but without any further foreplay, you welcome him inside you like the earth drinking the rain after the dry season. You are both too eager to think about anything else than the urge to feel each other. You're mewling quietly when he takes you in his arms, brings you even closer and penetrates you deeper. You don't even want to moan too loud. It's not that you don't feel pleasure: feeling him so intimately connected with you always drove you mad with delight: it's just that you don't want to desacralize the moment. You don't want to lose any second of it.  
You try to register every sensation: the salty taste of his skin, the softness of his hair, the strength of his muscles, the tenderness of his hands, the exact shade of blue of his irises' color, his scent, the rhythm of his heartbeat. You want him to mark you with his nails, his teeth, his saliva, so you won't be able to forget anything… to forget him.  
"Put your legs around me, kitten," he says in a soft moan into your ear. You circle his hips and squeeze with your thighs. It shoots a wave of pleasure up your spine and your back arches by reflex, pressing your belly to his.

You can see he's really trying to make it last as long as possible, but at some point your bodies can't take more of it and you beg him for release by chanting his name. You're so sensitive that in the end, only a soft love bite into the crook of your neck makes you come.

Once you're both spent, you stay there, united, for a long time, with your limbs intertwined: just trailing loving kisses on sweaty skin and running fingers in damp hair.  
You want to stay awake. Sleeping would mean losing time you could spend talking to him or just looking at him: but you feel slumber getting you. You rest your head on his chest and he kisses the top of your head. The last thing you hear is his voice saying:" sleep tight, my angel."

You're woken up a few hours later by his hands touching your back and your waist under the covers. "I'm going to hit the shower. Do you want to come with me?" he asks you.  
Once you're under the hot spray: you wash each other with something that approaches a sacred dedication. For two people who won't be able to see each other for three years, you're surprisingly silent. It's like you don't need or don't want to talk. You just hope your touches on each other show your feelings better than words could. Your soapy hands roam his forms as you take this last opportunity to memorize every curve and angle. He does the same with you and you lean against the wall with a sigh of pleasure when his hand makes its way down your stomach and between your legs. Water is dripping from his soaked hair and across his jaw line as he looks at you with a renewed envy. In the dim light, his eyes seem dark and shining like the ones of a predator. You're not afraid: the beast is tamed and it's yours.

Dean unhooks the shower handle and kneels down to the shower's floor. He lifts his gaze to meet yours and you cup his chin with one of your hands. He places a kiss just under your navel and whispers: "I want to give you a last orgasm."

You nod to express your consent and rest you head back to the wall. You bite down your lip to somewhat muffle the loud moan that pushes out of your throat when he spreads your thighs and his tongue finds its way between your folds. The hot, raw sensation that invades your every muscle as he is alternating between the stimulation of his tongue and the vibrating one of the shower spray, added to the constant one of his thumb pushing inside you in a steady rhythm is too perfect for you to endure it for long. Replacing his tongue by the spray from time to time gives him the opportunity to look at your face and gauge the intensity of your pleasure. He shows no mercy for your poor body: not giving you a second to even breathe between ruthless blows of pleasure in your lower belly. A pitiless suction of his lips on your clit finishes you off as you dig your nails in his shoulder with a cry. Completely boneless, you let him scoop you up in his arms and take you out of the shower. He dries you with a towel and carries you back to the bed.

Once under the covers, you look at him for a while, propped on your elbow.  
"Dean?"  
"Yes, babe?"  
"I don't know what to say," you confide in a low voice.  
"Maybe there is nothing to say."  
A long silence fills the hotel room,  
"But I can hold you if you want," he offers, opening his arms for you to snuggle in.  
"Yes please."

***  
Someone bled in the bed.

It's the first thought that crosses your mind when you open your eyes, but as your brain slowly gets rid of the fog of slumber, you look closer and realize it's the petals of the geranium flower scattered on the immaculate sheets that look like blood drops. The flower must have fallen from your hair at some point during the night. You roll to your other side only to realize that you're alone in the bed. The alarm clock on the nightstand indicates 5:47 in the morning. You wonder where your lover is. As you grab the pillow he slept on, you notice a wet spot on it. It can't be water from the shower because it would have dried by now. As far as you know, he doesn't drool in his sleep. So there is just one option left: like birds that hide to die, men hide to cry.

Your eyes catch movement on the balcony behind the patio door. You get up, find your undies on the floor, put them back on and wrap yourself into the bed's comforter.  
The sun’s not risen yet and there are bugs flying around the outdoor lamp as you open the door to join your boss on the little balcony. The night is warm and humid.  
"Oh, am I disturbing you?" you ask him as you see he is busy working on his numeric pad.

"No, I was over," he reassures you, unplugging a USB key from it and putting the device aside. "Come here," he says softly, patting his thigh with a hand and holding out the other to pull you onto his lap. You don't hesitate and sit on the deck chair with him. He rearranges the comforter around you both so you can be under it and still have a contact skin to skin with him. You both need that closeness right now. He puts his arms around you. You place a kiss to his cheek and beside his ear and he rests his head against your shoulder as you pet his hair.

"I'm not ready," he says in a faint whisper. His voice sounds broken and you wish you could comfort him and make it better. Your hand strokes his chest in a soothing caress.  
"Neither of us is ready," you sigh, clenching your teeth in an attempt to stay strong. "We did everything we could not to be ready. I don't think we'd ever be ready for that anyway."  
He holds you even tighter for any reply as he lifts his chin slightly to rub the tip of his long nose on your pulse point. His warm breath on your neck makes you want to have sex with him again, but a part of you knows it won't happen.

The sky turns from black to pink, to orange. As you watch the sun rise, holding on to one another like two survivors in a shipwreck, you ponder that you never thought possible to loathe so much something so beautiful.

You cling to him until the ringing of the phone in your hotel room forces him to leave you there and go answer the call.  
You feel the blood draining out of your body and your hands run cold when he hangs up and turns to look at you. "It's our cue," he says in a blank voice, "we have to go downstairs."

You put on your clothes from last night while your lover gets dressed as well and puts his tie in his trousers' back pocket. He grabs his bag, hands you your purse and you walk out of the room together. Once in the elevator, he takes his suit jacket off and places it on your shoulders.  
"You look pale and cold," he worries.  
"I feel sick," you admit.  
He laces his fingers with yours and squeezes your hand in his. "You can keep my suit jacket: consider it as a last gift….. and don't let go of my hand until you have no other choice."  
"Okay," you reply in a small voice.

Once on the first floor, you follow a long corridor to finally arrive in front of a door with a paper sheet on it that says: _" H production- sorting room."_  
"Sorting room?" you repeat, slightly confused, as your boss pushes the door.  
"Yes, that's here they separate the sheep from the goats."

The "sorting" room is not really a room but rather another corridor with a door at each end and a few plastic chairs placed along the wall. You're not alone there. Adam and Ryan greet you without enthusiasm when you enter. They are seated side by side, waiting. Ryan has his arm around Adam's shoulder and the smaller man's hand is resting on his PA's knee.  
Suddenly, one of the doors opens and a production employee peeks inside. "Ryan Kaneko-Taylor," he calls.  
Ryan stands up and drags his boss into his arms. You shoot a sad glance at your own boss and shift from one foot to another, uneasy, like your presence spoils the intimacy of your friend's last goodbye to his lover. You look at the carpet, but you can still hear their conversation.  
"I'm so sorry," Ryan says.  
"Why are you sorry for?" Mr Brown asks. "For making me live the best year of my life?"  
"I'm sorry to see you so sad."  
"I know that if you could do something about it you would."  
"I would."  
"That's why I love you, Ryan."  
You gulp, swallowing down your own tears.  
"I really wish you to find a man who deserves you," the tall assistant tells Adam.  
"Go now, before breaking what's left of my heart."  
"Okay. I'm sorry."  
"Stop being sorry and just go…" the slender Brit begs. There is no aggressiveness in his voice, just grief.  
"Bye, Ads," Ryan says, and by the sound of his voice, you can tell he's already walking away.  
"Bye, babe," Mr. Brown says back.

A few seconds later, the opposite door opens and another member of the production calls Adam. He walks in that direction and through the door without a look back, like he has forgotten you and Dean existed, and you can't really blame him for that.

"Do you want to sit down?" Dean offers.  
"No," you decline. "I want to stay here in your arms."  
"Fair enough," he replies, circling your waist and brushing his lips to your temple.

It's both good and awful to have him close. You still feel vaguely nauseous and you suddenly have a lot of compassion for all those women over the history who have seen their man leaving for war and experienced that soul-wrenching incertitude. Those lips: will you ever feel them again on your face? This distinctive manly scent: will you ever be able to breathe in it again?  
"We should do it like taking off a medical plaster: just in one shot. We walk straight to our doors: no tears, no look back," you tell him, your voice more firm than you actually feel inside.  
"Is it what you want?"  
"I think it's the only way I'll be able to do it."  
There is a short silence lingering between you before he finally replies: "Fine."

Your heart misses a beat when you hear a door, but fortunately, it's the main door that creaks open to let Aidan and Jess in. They were giggling about something, but their laughter dies immediately when they see you and Dean standing there, entwined.  
"You haven't been called yet?" Aidan asks.  
You both shake your heads.  
Jess gives you a compassionate gaze and the Irishman rubs the back of his neck, clearly uneasy. "We'll not bother you. We will just sit there," he tells you. "Deano? Wait for me once you're outside… if you want to talk…. or something…" he adds at your boss' attention.  
"I will," Dean assures him with an uptight smile. "Thanks, mate."  
It reassures you to know that your lover won't be all alone.

You hear footsteps getting closer in the corridor and it's like someone just cut your belly open and poured acid in your guts when the door opens like it's the one of hell. "Dean O'Gorman," the production guy calls.

Your hands clench in tight fists in the fabric at the back of your lover's shirt. You are clinging to his clothes like a kitten that didn't learn how to retract its claws yet. Dean undoes your fists from around him gently and kisses your hand. "Bye babe," he murmurs before turning back and heading to the door. He is about to walk through it when a strangled cry escapes your throat and the tears spill out of your eyes like a torrent as you run the short distance between you and your lover who turns around just in time to catch you in his arms.

"Dean…. Please… It's so hard…," you manage to say between hiccups and uncontrollable sobs. "Why is it so awful!? I can't do it… I can't let you go…. I can't…I won't make it… without you…," you beg him, crying from anger, your face pressed to his shoulder as he pets the hair at the back of your head and holds you with a fierce protectiveness.  
"I don't want to let you go either," he replies, sorrow piercing through his low voice, "but we have no choice."  
"Mr. O'Gorman," the production employee insists.  
" Give me five minutes! Can't you see she's crying, for fuck's sake," Dean snaps. "Shhh, it's fine, baby, everything is going to be fine," he tries to comfort you.  
"It won't be fine," you weep.  
"I know, but there is nothing I can do right now except for comforting you, and I have to comfort you or else it's me who's going to burst into tears." It's too late apparently because when you pull back slightly to look at him, his lower lip quivers like the one of a little boy who fell from his bike and a transparent pearl runs across his cheek.  
"I love you, Dean. I love you so much," you confess in a strangled sob, cupping his face in your hands. You didn't mean to tell him, but you miserably failed to hold it back. Emotion is overwhelming you and you just can't contain it anymore.  
Your man: so strong and unbreakable, is now shaking in your arms. "This is not a farewell, I swear," he vows, his voice rough from the crying. "I'll be at your door in three years and one second, with an enormous flower bouquet. I'm going to kick out whatever douchebag boyfriend you'd be with and woo you back into my life. "  
You chuckle despite the pain, before warning him: "Don't make promises you don't know if you'll be able to keep."  
"I know, I'm sorry," he apologizes, putting his hands each side of your wet face and resting his forehead to yours. "Goodbye, my baby. Do me a favor and be happy, yeah?"  
"No, no, no no," you repeat in broken sobs as you feel him pulling back slowly and reluctantly.  
"I have to go now."

You're not physically able to let go and try to withhold his hand for a second, but it's too late and your heart makes its very last living beat as his fingers are slipping away from yours. He gives you a last glance before leaving to the other side of the door and the look you see in his eyes is the one of a man sentenced to death. You can almost hear the sound of your own heart breaking when the door shuts close.

 

You stay there, paralyzed, before you hide your face in your hands to give free reins to your tears and distress. You feel two pairs or arms coming around you as Jess and Mr. Turner envelop you in a warm group hug, but it fails to dry the tears.

It doesn't take much time before your name is called and you have to leave your friends. As you follow the employee, you try to regain a neutral countenance. As you enter the room where two production lawyers are waiting for you, your eyes meet the ones of your favorite witch who is supervising the operations. You know your teary eyes and the dark circles around them are betraying you, but you surely won't give Greta Campbell the satisfaction of seeing you destroyed before her eyes.

The lawyers make you sign at least five documents and explain to you all the judiciary consequences it would have for you and your former boss' career if you kept any kind of contact with him until the theatrical release of the last movie. They erase the email account you were using to communicate with Dean, the official one you were using for work. They call your phone company and make you change your number and erase all your contacts related to the actors you worked with on your phone. You know they require the same thing from your boss and as you're erasing him from your life, he is probably doing the same right now, in another room of the hotel.

This blatant violation of your private life is perfectly legal since it was in the contract you signed when you accepted the job. Back then, you didn’t pay much attention to that line. Back then, falling head over heels with your boss wasn't in your plans either.

***  
When you step outside the hotel and into the underground parking, Ryan is there waiting for you, seated on a low wall. His eyes are still red. You sit by his side and rest your head against his shoulder.  
"God....why did we fall so hard? We are stupid," he sighs, shaking his head.  
"We really are," you concur. "How are we going to survive this, Ry?"  
"I wish I had an answer to this question."  
When a black SUV arrives to pick you up, you both climb in and give your address to the private driver.  
Drained and numb, you look at the houses, gardens and streets outside, wondering how you're going to get the colors, the light and the flavors back in the world now that you don't have your angel anymore.  
You slip your cold hand into the suit jacket's pocket. You are surprised to find something there as your fingers close around a small plastic object. You take it out to study it in the light.

 

There, on the middle of your palm, is Dean's USB key.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments on the last chapter. Let me know what you think, even if it's two words. There is no bad comments (unless they are bitchy but I never get any of those because you guys are really sweet to me) <3 
> 
> If some of you are wondering if my chapter titles are going to contain animal names until the end: the answer is : YESSSSSS! *crazy laugh*


	17. Something the Cat Dragged In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know it hurts, but Dean won't come back: not now, probably never. You have to accept that fact," Jess says bluntly, unfeeling in the face of your distress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New-Zealand's alps of thanks and hugs to my lovely beta: the ever amazing Katyushha!!! <3 
> 
> Same disclaimer as usual: this is a fictional work -- everything comes from my wicked mind. 
> 
> WARNING: I know the last chapter was angsty, this one is too (so maybe expect TEARS)... but there is hope at the end... there is always hope.

Once upon a time, in another, happier life, you had the habit of listening to the radio on Sunday mornings, doing some house chores with Dean. Now, several months after you lost your lover, you consider the radio as an instrument of evil forces, invented just to torment you.

You can relate to Britney Spears on a very deep level (something you would have never even thought possible) when she sings _"my loneliness is killing me."_ You are at a point that _Hit me Baby One More Time_ makes you tear up. Let's say you can't handle _Goodbye my Lover_ by James Blunt or _Need You Now_ by Lady Antebellum really well. Basically, any song talking about a break up, a boy and a girl or just talking about love in general gives you the need to curl up in a ball of self-pity in a corner of your room in Mercedes and Stephen's basement. And since those are the favorite subjects of most songwriters, you end up in foetal position too often for it to be sane. So you just gave up on listening music. One time you tried to turn on the TV instead, but channel 3 was showing _Young Hercules_. The poor remote control that didn't do anything wrong, still ended up being thrown across the room. 

During the first month after Dean's departure, you were in complete denial, still convinced that he would find your number somehow and start sending you coded texts. For weeks you still threw yourself like a demented woman on your phone every time it vibrated: hoping… just hoping. You almost expected him to drop by Stephen's door with a giant flower bunch and elope with you to a tropical island unknown to the production lawyers. But you remembered that he doesn't even know you're living there and that your life is not a fairy tale or a Hollywood movie.

 

You also stalked him on twitter in a moment of desperation.  The only update was a photo showing the bottom of his jeans and his converse shoes: Batman lying at his feet. The background was a grass area, probably in some park or in the backyard of his new house. The status accompanying the photo said _“hanging out with my favorite poo_ _c_ _h”_ and nothing else. He and Batman are both alive… somewhere in Auckland, and that’s the only news you’re going to get.

 

The metaphor of the heart being torn apart may seem melodramatic until you experience a real heartbreak. You can physically feel it -- this empty hole in your chest.  It doesn't  want to heal – in fact, the hole is even more gaping than it was when he looked back at you in the corridor of that hotel before making his way out of your life.

One evening when you missed him too much, you even called a taxi and gave the driver the address of Dean's former house in Seatoun. You ended up standing on the sidewalk, watching through the window a family with two teenage kids eating their supper in what used to be Dean's dining room. You wondered why you even came there and what you hoped to accomplish. You suddenly realized that you couldn't go back in time.

Even if you entered that house again, (which you shouldn't because it would be awkward) you would not hear Batman's paws clicking on the floor. You wouldn't smell the Alfredo sauce and pasta on the stove: the only thing Dean was ever able to cook (along with pancakes when it was a ready-mix). You wouldn't hear the muffled sound of 70s old rock coming from the office in the basement. Those days are gone as are the things that were making this place special to you. You walked back home, several kilometers in the dark, not even feeling your feet bleeding in your ballerina shoes. How to notice sore feet when your heart is even sorer?

You also feel incredibly alone since nearly all of your friends have left the country.  Ros lives at her parents' in Edinburgh now. Jess found a job as a PA on a movie set in Boston and Ryan is in Sydney. He proclaimed that his PA career was over for good and he's been hired by a modeling agency.

You… well… you're still in Wellington, playing nanny for Mercedes and Stephen's son. Juan is the only thing that manages to make you smile from time to time. The little boy is so cute, small and innocent. He doesn't know what heartache is. He doesn't know loss. He simply loves. He loves everything and everyone: you, his mommy and his daddy, the cat, the chirping of the birds, the taste of applesauce, his soft blanket and his plush elephant.  Anything can make him laugh. You wish you still had that simplicity.

You nearly became an eremite after the end of the shooting, isolating from the world like a wounded animal and almost never leaving the house. Your lifeless behavior started to make your hosts concerned. Mercedes encouraged you to find activities to do outside the house. By dint of coaxing, she finally convinced you to bring CVs to a couple places. You found a part-time job in a small coffee shop in Wellington. Sometimes, when the door of the coffee shop opens and the bell rings, you still lift your gaze with hope that you'd see a familiar tousled mane, dimples and soft blue eyes. It never happens. As the months go by, you look less and less often at the door and the hope slowly dies as your heart sinks deeper into your chest like a shipwreck.

The realization that it's really over makes the denial turn into anger over time. You can't bear to hear people telling you to be strong and to get yourself together. They don't understand. Nobody understands.

"The next person who tells me I have to move on, I punch them in the face," you tell Jess, one night that you're chatting with her over Skype.

"They tell you that because it is the truth," she points out, "you _have_ to move on, unless you want to be miserable for the rest of your life."

"You are really lucky to be in Boston right now," you growl.  

"I know it hurts, but Dean won't come back: not now, probably never. You have to accept that fact," she says bluntly, unfeeling in the face of your distress.

"I don't want to move on. Don't you understand? " you protest, trying to contain the frustration that still pierces through your voice. "I want to always feel this pain, okay? Not because I enjoy it. It's awful. It eats me from the inside. But I want to feel it because if the pain goes, it will mean that I don't love him anymore and the last thing I want is to forget about him."

"You're being a bit pathetic now, darling, sorry to say that," she states. "You have to assume the choices you made and live with them. You can't blame the consequences on everything but yourself."  

"You think I chose that?" you thunder, your tone not friendly anymore. You are so fed up with her treating you like you are responsible of your own fate. "You think I chose to be seduced by that man? There is not a day that passes without me regretting he ever showed up in my life. I wish I never got that job. I wish I never met him and never fell in love with him. I hate everybody who tells me to overcome that loss like it is easy. I hate the production of this movie and their stupid rules. I hate fate for having taken my boyfriend away from me. "

And truth is, sometimes, when you're really angry, you even hate Dean. You hate him for being far from you and not trying everything to be with you.  

"I'm done with you treating me like some dumb kid who put her fingers in the electric plug," you add.  

"You're just being selfish," she says sharply, and even with the blurry image of the webcam, you can see her eyes misting with unshed tears. "You think that you're the only one who’s ever been heartbroken!? You think I don't know what you're feeling!!!?? You are wrong. I know exactly what you're feeling. I have been there. I'm trying to be reasonable and to help you out but you keep negating all I'm saying. You know what!? I'm giving up on you!"

"Fine!" you spit, "Just do that, then!"  And before you can say anything else, she’s hung up on you.

You spend the rest of the evening punching a pillow and hating everything, but mainly yourself. You have lost a lover and now managed to lose a friend. You try to text her and apologize but she ignores you. You know you deserve it.

It's the silence between you two for three weeks, until you finally receive a text:

- _9:56AM-Jess: Apologies accepted. I'm sorry too. We've been stupid._   

***

"How did you manage... to forget him?" you ask her tentatively the next time you get to speak over Skype.

"A break up is very much like a death," she tells you. "Even if you still love the person, you have to have the courage to say farewell to the relationship. Sometimes it takes a symbolic gesture to do so. Personally, I took a gift he had given me and I buried it along with a letter I had written to him. You have to find your own way."

You nod and look at the corner of your room where there is a cardboard box containing, among other things, a blue dress, a yellow necklace, a warm blanket and a black suit jacket that still has some traces of Dean's smell.

The next day, you take your car, drive to Miramar neighborhood and walk to the parking that used to be the trailer park of the studio, the box filled with everything that reminds you of your ex-lover tucked under your arm.  

You know where to go without being in the angle of the security camera. It's night and you are alone in the empty parking.

It's here, in this trailer park that it all began; it's here that it has to finish.

You have to put an end to that mourning once for all.  

You put the box on the ground and take from it a pint of liquid fire starter and a box of matches. Like an automaton, trying not to think about what you're doing, you pour the starter into your box, light a match and throw it inside the box.

You look at the fire blazing in the night for a while, burning the material evidences of your relationship.

"Farewell, Dean, my love," you murmur, "please, baby, stop haunting me. It hurts too much."

Everything is silent and the wind rises.

"Blunt the knives, bent the forks, smash the bottle and burn the corks," you sing slowly like it's a funeral hymn. Your singing dies down and you leave the last notes to the wind.  It seems like it replies, taking in its invisible strings the ghostly echo of Fili's laughter and dragging it away from you.

 

You close your eyes and a single tear rolls down your cheek. You decide it's the very last tear you're going to shed on that love story.

As you drive home, you realize that there is something you forgot to burn: the USB key you found in his suit's pocket after you'd been parted. You didn't even dare look at what was in it yet. You don't think you ever will. You're just too afraid of what you might find.

***

Days pass, then weeks, then months. The pain is not as acute and sharp as it was before. It's not an open wound anymore, but rather a numb ache that follows you everywhere you go.  

The end of November arrives, announcing the upcoming premiere of the first movie.

"We had a TV interview today," Stephen informs you all, one evening that you are seated at the kitchen table to eat supper. "It was nice to see the boys again."

You stop eating and put your fork back on the table, making a point of not reacting.

Mercedes looks at her partner pointedly, but Stephen is oblivious to the message she is trying to send him.

"Deano was there," he adds, looking at you.  

"Stephen!" she exclaims.

"What!?" he asks, offended by her scolding.

You gulp to coat with saliva the nasty lump that formed in your throat and that has no business there. "How is he?" you inquire in a casual voice, even if there is a storm inside you.

"He seems to be okay," he replies, putting another spoonful of carrot puree in Juan's mouth.

"I'm glad he is" you state, standing up. Any appetite has left you and you suddenly feel nauseous.  You take your still full plate and empty it in the bin. You leave the dishes in the sink and leave the room without a word. As you head down to your room, you hear Mercedes chide the actor. "Oh look what you've done, Stephen. You made her sad! You could have kept your mouth shut on that one."

You still have a full bottle of port wine from last Christmas somewhere in your room. When you find it, you leave the house subtly and sit on the deck at the back of the house to drink your sorrow alone. You should be happy that your former lover is fine. He deserves to be fine. It's been nearly one year that you haven't seen him. He had plenty of time to heal from your break up and start a new life. It's not because you apparently can't get over him that he has to do the same thing. Maybe he has someone new in his life. You should be glad to know he's doing great… but you don't. You hate the idea of him being well when all you can do is miss him and long for him.

You hear the door opening behind you and someone tiptoeing on the deck, but you don't turn around and you take a gulp from your bottle. You wince at the strong taste of sugary alcohol.

Mercedes settles her baby on a blanket in the grass with some toys and she sits by your side on the edge of the deck.

"I'm sorry about Stephen," she apologizes. "I don't think he realizes how fresh the wound still is for you."

"That's okay," you say with a dismissal gesture. "I didn't know how fresh the wound was either. I thought I had somehow managed to be in peace with it. Apparently I can't."

She pats the top of your hand resting on your thigh. "It's normal that you still think about him sometimes," she sympathizes.

"The problem is that I think of him all the time," you object, grief laced with every word, but your eyes remain dry. "I loved him. Not because he was a successful, talented artist and actor: these were the reasons why I admired him. I loved him because he was a good man, half as beautiful outside that he was on the inside. He was loving, caring, generous, simple: inspired and inspiring. He was my lover and my best-friend. I had a hard time imagining what a life without him would be like. Now I know why this visualization exercise was so difficult. It's because there is none. This isn't a life."

"I'm really worried for you," Mercedes says, the "r" rolling on her tongue, her Mexican accent getting thicker like every time she is sad or concerned. "You should maybe get some psychological help."

You chuckle humorlessly at those words. "You are probably right, but what am I going to tell them?" you point out. "What brings you here?" you ask, imitating the voice of a potential therapist. "Oh, you know, I signed a contract that made me the sex slave of a famous actor for one year and a half. I fell in love with said actor, but my contract forbade me to see him for three years after my work would have been done. Now I'm depressed because I would have loved to be his girlfriend," you add as a reply to the hypothetic question. "Do you really think I can say that to a therapist? It sounds like a bad fanfiction prompt. And what's the point of paying for a therapy if I can't tell the truth." You take another long gulp of port wine to swallow down what you just said.

"You know, I feel partly responsible for what you're going through," your friend confesses.

"No. Please don't," you reply, putting an arm around her shoulders.

On the blue blanket, Juan is trying to put one of his feet in his mouth to chew on his toes. "When I look at that little angel of yours, I remember that there are things in life more important than my egoistic heartbreak," you assure her.   

You're proud of yourself. You spoke about Dean and this time you didn't cry.

***

Mid-December is approaching dangerously and you start to see Dean everywhere. It's not really surprising since the world premiere of The Hobbit is supposed to take place in Wellington.  Fili starts to appear outside on the public buses, on placards on the buildings downtown and on the covers of the movie magazines Stephen leaves on the kitchen table. At some point, you can't go anywhere without seeing the blue eyes, the long blond hair and the braided mustache.

One day when you complain about it to Jess on Skype, she offers you to spend the Christmas holidays with her. "Why don't you come here in Boston?  My flatmate just moved out last week and I have a spare room. I think it would be a good thing for you if you got out of Wellington for a while, at least until the premiere frenzy is over."

One hour later, you are on the internet, purchasing a plane ticket for the United States and three days later you're at Wellington's national airport, trying to ignore all the publicity for the Hobbit everywhere in the terminal and even on the side of Air NZ's airplanes.

***

"Oh dear… you look like something the cat dragged in," is the first thing your brunette friend tells you when she opens the door and finds you on her doorstep.

"Thanks a lot. I'm happy to see you as well, Jess," you grunt, making your way to her guestroom, dragging your heavy luggage behind you.  

"I'm only saying that you need to cheer up: put some sun in your life," she tells you, helping you putting your clothes in the empty drawers of the guest room's cabinet. "We should go out tonight," she decides and you know you are powerless to resist.

Jess brings you to a nice club she discovered when she arrived in Boston. You are surprised to note that you are enjoying yourself a lot. It's like the good old times in Wellington when you were doing girls nights out.  

"Ryan had a holiday and he came here to visit me for a week," she informs you.

"Yes?" you frown, "he didn't tell me about it."

"I think he was feeling guilty."

"About what?"

"About the fact we slept together."

You nearly choke on the ice cube you were making melt on your tongue.  You cough and squeak: "Oh god!"

"The poor guy needed healing sex. I was happy to offer him some," she states. Shame is, and always was, a foreign concept to Jessica Summers. "Why wouldn't we?" she adds, "we are both available and he is gorgeous."

As your train of thoughts leads you to a nearby field, you wonder if Dean found somebody to provide him healing sex. Maybe he doesn't even need some.

"And did it help him to heal and forget Adam?" you inquire.

"I don't think so. He was quite smitten. But I must say I had a blast: he was surprisingly good," she tells you, a naughty smile floating on her lips.

You wrinkle your nose. "I know Ry is quite the sex-symbol, but I would never be able to think about him that way. It would be like sleeping with my brother."

At some point during the evening, a group of German students join you at your table and they pay for all your drinks. One of them asks for your number but you tell him that you live in New-Zealand. When he insists, you lie and tell him you have a boyfriend. If only it was true… if only you still had a boyfriend: preferably a 5ft8 one, with ginger-blond hair, blue eyes and dimples. There is small chance you will ever find a boyfriend like that anymore. This German guy might be cute: healing sex is not something you will seek. Not tonight at least, or not even in the next years.

***

On the following days, while Jess is at work, you walk in the streets, museums and parks like a lost soul.

One day that you just came out of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, you step under the roof of a bus shelter and that's when you see him. He's there staring at you, looking all manly with his double swords and his intense gaze.

There is a large Hobbit poster that takes all of one of the shelter's wall. You were a fool to think you would be safe here in Boston. He followed you all the way from New-Zealand.

It's not really Fili that you see on the poster but Dean: under the costume you helped him put on and take off so many times. This time, you don't try to escape. You even walk closer, remove your glove and reach a hand to touch his face through the cold glass.

"You like them, the hobbits?" asks a voice behind you. You jump and turn around to see an old man, seated on the shelter's bench.

"This one's a dwarf actually," you smile gently, putting your fingers back on Fili's cheek.

"You like dwarves, then?" the gentleman questions you again.

"I like this one in particular," you confess.

"The blond one? Why?"

"The actor who plays this character… he was my lover once," you explain. What do you have to lose anyway? You don't care if you told your secret to a stranger. You can't really picture him trying to sell that information to People Magazine anyway.  

"Oh," he breathes. The elderly man doesn't seem to think you're lying or crazy. "What happened?" he simply asks, looking sorry for you.

You stay silent for a moment.  Staring at Dean on the poster, before replying the most logical reason you can find: "life made us drift apart."

"But you still love him, obviously."

You duck your head to the side. "Yes… and I'm afraid I always will"

"And him, does he love you?"

"I don't know. I think he did love me."

"What are you waiting for to tell him, then?" the old man points out. "You only have a life to live. _YOLO_ , like you youngsters say. "

"It's… complicated…," you reply, uncertain, your fingertip still tracing the jawline of poster-Fili.

"Love is not complicated, it's us who complicate it and put obstacles in the way," he objects firmly.  "I would have given everything to know that when I was twenty. Now, every day I wish I could go back to 1956 and tell Mary Truman how much I loved her."

The bus number 32 slows down in front of the shelter; you abandon the poster and put your glove back on. "This is my bus. Have a nice day, sir," you say in apologetic tone.  

"You too, darling, " he smiles.                                           

You climb in the bus and take a seat, still somewhat shaken by the words of that kind of Gandalf made in Boston. Maybe he is right. Maybe you're strong enough now and it's time for you to get some answers and some real closure at the same time. You open your purse and slip a hand in it. You search until your fingers close around a small object that has been hidden there for months now. You take it out and look at the USB key in your hands. "Shit…" you curse weakly as you rest your head against the window.

***

How stupid and naive you were to think this would be easier to do one year later. If anything it's worse.

You are seated in front of your laptop in Jess' guest room. The little black device is burning in your palm as if there is a curse on it and your heart is drumming like the one of a hummingbird.

You uncap the USB key, freak out, recap it, put it on the table and stare at it for ten minutes, not knowing what to do. It feels like being on the roof of a 150 floors building with no parachute and wondering if it's a good idea to jump off.

You're probably stressing for nothing. Maybe he forgot his key in his suit when he lent it to you and it doesn't have anything in it that concerns you.  But just finding a bunch of his photos would still be enough to drag you down and remind you how much you miss him.

Your hands are shaking when you finally get the courage to plug the device in your laptop.

You feel you heart freeze when the window pops up on your screen. There is only one thing stocked in the memory of the USB key: a word document.

The title is your name.

You don't have any doubt now. Dean had planned to forget it inside his jacket's pocket.

You click on the document.

At the first glance, you can see it's a letter. You close your eyes and take three deep breaths to steady your nerves before opening them and starting to read.

 

 

 

_My baby,_

_I don't know if I will be very good at it. I never wrote a love letter to a girl before. In fact it's a lie. I had written a letter to Stephanie Charles, a girl of my class in second grade. I had a crush on her and I asked one of my friends to give her a note saying "Meet me at the playground at four. I want to kiss you behind the red slide." I know it lacked romanticism a bit. She laughed at me with her friends and it marked the end of my writer career when it comes to love letters. I don't even know why I am telling you that. Maybe I want you to forgive me in case this letter sucks. At the same time, I'm telling myself that if I just take this opportunity I have to let you_ _know_ _how I feel, without any censure, it can't be that useless. I know- I should stop beating around the bush and get to the point, but it's difficult for me in so many ways. We Kiwi men have this tendency to be secretive and to underplay everything. I have no choice but to open up now: this is the very last chance I have to do so._

 _You're currently sleeping in the bed of our hotel room. It's our last night together. I just want to wake you up and make love to you again… and again… till the end of the world, hoping it would prevent the sun from rising_ _and us from having to part. But I know that you need to sleep to be able to face what's coming, so I won't wake you up._

_I take these moments alone to write this message. I want to tell you all the things I never had the courage to tell you in this last year we were together. I think that you deserve to hear them._

_I was your boss. I shouldn't have had feelings for you: but I did, and I still do. Almost right away I wanted to be your man and you to be my girl. I had this deep desire to make you mine and when I understood you also wanted me to be yours, there was already no way back. Wanting you was easy: falling for you was even easier._

_I am just a man, and a stupid one sometimes. It_   _took me a while to figure all that out. It took me a bloody earthquake to realize I loved you more than anything and that I couldn't let anything happen to you. I realized I couldn't lose you.  And it's wha_ _t is_ _about to happen to us. I'm about to lose you and I don't think I know just yet how much it's going to hurt._

_I want to be strong for you. I can't break down because you still need me._

_Don't ask me how I am going to live without you. I have no idea. Don't ask me how I am going to wake up in the morning if you aren't by my side. Don't ask me how I'll manage to fall asleep at night if you aren't in my arms. I don't hold these answers. Maybe there are none._

_Your love filled my life until your love and my life became one. I think that, contrary to Cher, I don't believe in life after love._ _It's maybe sappy, but it's true._

 _You're so courageous and selfless, my love. I will always admire you for that. You sacrificed what we could have had to give Stephen and Mercedes the opportunity to be together with their son. I'll try to live by that and carry my own pain remembering that I don't suffer for nothing. I'm suffering because the woman I love is an amazing person who made the right choice. How is it possible that the fact you chose to renounce_ _to_   _our relationship makes me love you even more? Am I a bad person for wishing things were different? From the start we were star-crossed lovers. I wish we had a chance somehow._

 _Maybe it is the stubborn dwarf in me that doesn't want to lay down the arms, but I want you to know that no matter how many years it will take for you to come back to me, there will always be a place for you in my heart and my arms. I don't want to give up. Money, my career, whatever: these are just details. I won't bring them in my tomb. I want you to know that I can fight Greta Campbell, the production, lawyers, five armies and a dragon to have my fair lady back. None of these are making me afraid: at least not as the idea of a life without you petrifies me._ _If I didn’t say those things to you directly, it is because I hope that when you read this letter, you will have had a bit of time to think about it;  to know if you want to take the risk of being with me despite everything._

 _I wouldn't be angry_ _with_ _you if you met someone else and chose to move o_ _n._ _Even if it would kill me to know you are with another man, I would understand. But, I genuinely think you are the love of my life, and everything I am is yours… if you would have me._

_I also want to thank you for every time you comforted me, cheered me up, took me in your arms, kissed me, touched me, supported me, listened to me, laughed with me, slept with me. Thank you for every time you said you loved me. I heard them in my dreams._

_I love you, my angel. The only thing I regret is that I didn't tell you those words every day._

_xxx_

_Deano_

_P.S. Here is a little souvenir. I hope you won't be angry with me to know that I have a smaller copy of that photo in my wallet. I will carry it with me for a long time._

 

 

At the bottom of the page, there is a picture. You have a hard time seeing it at first through the tears that spill on your face. It's you, in front of the pond in the Wellington botanical garden, with your arms around Batman's neck, laughing. You barely recognize yourself. Who is that girl who still knew how to smile?

You let out a hiccup and hide your face in your hands to let your tears run free. You stay there, crying in your hands for about an hour, until you're completely worn out.

You empty half of Jess' tissues box before closing the document and taking the USB key out of the computer.

When you walk out of the guestroom like a zombie, Jess is waiting for you, seated at the kitchen table with a straight face. She takes a square of paper in front of her on the table and hands it to you.

"What's that?" you ask, taking it from her outstretched hand.

"A bus ticket," she explains. "I was planning on using them to go to New York do some shopping at the weekend but I'm giving it to you instead."

You frown. "But …why?"

"Because I realize now that no matter the consequences, being with him is the only way you're going to be happy."

"I… I am-" you stutter but she cuts you off.

"The New York premiere is in three days, honey. You don't have a minute to lose. Go join your prince charming. "

You don't say anything; you just walk around the table, take her by the elbows, pull her up and hug her with all your strength.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting. Only two chapters to go, guys! 
> 
> A lot of poeple who usually leave comments on this work disappeared in the last chapter. It's probably the angst that scared you away. :( I'm sorry!!! Please come back !!!! *sniff*


	18. A Moth to a Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the end, guys. *sniffles*
> 
> It's been an honor to work for one year now with my gorgeous friend Kat. I don't think I can thank her enough for her hard work, patience, love and encouragements. 
> 
> Also, thanks to all of you who followed this story and moreover, my eternal gratitude to the readers who took the time to comment on it. :) <3 You made my writing experience a very pleasant one.

As soon as you arrive in New York City, you don't waste any time and after you’ve dropped your luggage in your cheap motel room, you hasten to find a decent photo of Thorin's company on the internet, put it on the USB device and you find the closest stationery store to print it. You realized during your bus trip that you have to look like any fan: and if you don't have anything to collect autographs in your hands, you'll look suspicious. There will not only be Dean on the red carpet tomorrow night: there are also going to be all of your former colleagues, and surely most members of the production team. You have to try to go unnoticed to everybody but one specific person. To be really honest, you don't have a precise idea of how you're going to manage it. You didn't overthink it. In fact you didn't think at all. After reading his letter, the only thing you could think about was to see him. You simply packed your things, took Jess' ticket and left on the first bus to NYC.

Once you have your photo printed, you go back to your room, fill your backpack with energy drinks, food, water, warm clothes and you put a cap on your head.

You walk to the theater where the premiere is supposed to take place. There are already several people camping for a day or two, hoping to be in the first row to see the actors. A place in the second row would be enough to you.  

The wait is long and the night is cold. While you wait outside in the freezing New York weather, you make at least a hundred different scenarios of what would happen tonight. You're not quite sure what you want to accomplish. You want to see him, for sure, but you'd like him to notice you: you'd like him to know you are still there and think of him. But what would you do if he is accompanied? It's a very plausible scenario. You'll surely vomit your own tears if you see him with another woman hanging off on his arm. What if he doesn't recognize you or if he just passes in front of you and doesn't even notice you?

Early in the morning, the technicians and the theater employees start to settle up the decor and the red carpet. By the afternoon, the place is crowded with people and journalists. As you see the sun set behind the tall buildings, nervousness seizes you in its grip.

The hour passes and as the real event finally begins, you see the first actors arrive in black cars and limousines. With your heart already drumming in your chest, you keep your head down and your face hidden under your cap as Mr. Kircher, Mr. Brophy and Mr. Callen walk down the red carpet a few meters from you. A bit later, it's Mr. Armitage whose arrival makes the girls around you go crazy, and you want to disappear under the ground when he and Peter come dangerously close to where you stand to sign autographs. You heave a relieved sigh when they leave.

A black Lincoln berline slows down and stops and your watch it with an expectant gaze as the door opens. Wearing a dark blue suit over a white shirt and untamed short dark curls: Aidan is gorgeous, as usual. He helps a young woman step out of the car. The way she looks at him and takes his hand right away tells you she is his girlfriend. They seem happy together. You wonder for a second what Jess would think of it. Not long after you arrived on the set, she told you:" It will never be us on the red carpet, wearing beautiful Chanel dresses, accompanying our handsome actors, because red carpets are for queens and we are no queens, we are servants, it's our fate." You have to admit that she was right about this. You're not wearing an exquisite blue dress like the one Aidan's girlfriend is wearing and walking down the aisle with Dean. Instead, you're hiding in the crowd, wearing the same clothes for two days now.

Aidan and his girlfriend walk a few steps and let people take photos of them, but Aidan seems to be waiting for something… or somebody. A charcoal colored car stops in front of the carpet. You heart makes an acrobatic leap in your chest when a man with a painfully familiar face steps out of it, straightening his black suit and bow tie. With his blond hair slicked back, he looks so classy and handsome that you forget to breathe for a few seconds.

He is alone. He has no girlfriend, or fiancée or escort to accompany him tonight. It should make you happy, but you are so agitated that you feel nauseous.

A few "Dean!, Aidan!, Aidan !, Dean! Aidan, please!" start to fuse from around you in the crowd as the fans are trying to attract the actors' attention.  

All these people; they look at Dean and only see a sexy celebrity, but they have no idea what in life can make him smile, what gets him emotional, what makes his eyes sparkle… they don't know anything. They don't know that he drinks his coffee black, he hates raw peppers, he had a huge crush on princess Leia when he was young, he is self-conscious about his hands' size, he sleeps under his kitchen table after earthquakes and secretly likes listening to Beyoncé in his car. All those fans - they can't know. They only see the pleasant exterior. They don't know who he is, but you do: you have shared his nights and days for nearly two years. You are mesmerized and it hurts to realize that you have nearly forgotten how beautiful he looks in person. You can't tear your eyes from the clear, lively blue eyes and the shapely lips. He looks… happy. How could he not, with all these fans that waited for hours just to worship him. They are excited and enthusiastic while you're mortified. You passed the "fangirl" stage long ago, you don't see an actor right now, you only see your ex-boyfriend you're still madly, sickly, deeply in love with.

You want to run away and hide, because it's too painful, but at the same time you wish you could stop the course of the time and while everybody is frozen, you would jump the other side of that fence and walk to him just to get to hold him for a few moments in your arms and touch his face.

You suddenly regret you’ve come here. You don't really want to get face to face with your former lover in that crowd. You were really stupid. What were you expecting, really? It would be a miracle if he even noticed you. And what then? He will not spin your around on the red carpet in a joyous reunion like in romantic movies. Your heart is beating too loud, your throat gets dry as Dean and Aidan are approaching. You feel all your courage leaving you and you're about to turn around and leave, but suddenly it's too late.

Your gaze locks with Dean's. He stops. His smile falls and his face blanches. You know without a single doubt that he recognized you.  

Aidan has seen you too and he doesn't look happy about it. Who can blame him?You're exposing your ex-lover to a real danger just by being there, without mentioning the danger of breaking his friend's heart all over again. Dean and the Irishman have a short exchange sotto voce. You see Aidan shaking his head in disapproval. You feel so uneasy you wish you weren't there. They seem to get to an agreement.

Dean walks toward you, but he is not looking at you anymore: he smiles at the other fans. You know he has to pretend he doesn't know you, but it still hurts so much.  He signs a couple autographs before stretching out his hand toward you, with the exact same friendly expression he has to all the other fans. You give him your photo and your hand brushes over his for a split second. His fingers are cold and moist. He signs it, gives the photo back to you and that's it: he's already gone to sign more autographs on the other side of the red carpet.

You only stay there for a few minutes, dumbstruck, staring at the nothingness in front of you, before you realize that you don't have anything to do there anymore. You make your way out of the crowd before any other actor can get closer and recognize you.

You're not crying as you walk away in the street, your now rumpled autographed photo clutched in your hand. You just feel desensitized to your surroundings, but your body is still moving like a robot. Disappointment strangles you so hard it helps keeping your eyes dry somehow.

As you walk back to your motel, you spot a bin on the sidewalk. It seems to be a right place to get rid of the picture. You don't want his signature on a piece of paper: what you wanted was the signature of his lips on your skin.

You're about to throw it inside the bin when something strikes you: Dean's autograph looks odd. The light is dim and you can't quite read, but you can't help but notice that you don't see the trademark big "O" of "O'Gorman". You frown and you walk a few more meters to be just under a street light.

It's not his name that is on the photo but a phone number. Instantly, it's like your heart has started beating again. He left you a way to contact him.

***

Once back in your room, you pace in it like a caged panther for at least two hours, trying not to go crazy. You search for a way to soothe your nerves in vain. You're so on edge you don't know if it would be a good idea to call him now. In fact: you don't know if it is a good idea to call him at all. The letter on the USB key: he wrote it a year ago. There is nothing that guarantees he still feels the same now… but he wouldn't have given you his phone number if he didn't. Your dearest wish was to see him again: and now that you have the possibility to do so, you feel like a coward. You don't want to relive the awful heartbreak you went through one year ago when you broke up. The wound is pulling on its stitches and seems to fight to open again.

It's like you are obsessed: his image can't leave your mind. You see him getting out of the car, approaching on the red carpet: you see his hand moving toward you to take your photo… again, and again, and again in an endless loop that makes you want to scream.

The photo where he has written his phone number has been folded and unfolded many times and is now lying on the nightstand. You look down at it for a while before taking your phone from your pocket slowly. "Fuck…" you breathe, knowing that you are definitely too weak to stay away from him like you probably should.

It rings once, twice, and at the third one, there is a male voice at the other end of the line that takes the call in an unsure voice. "Hello?"

"Hi Dean. It's ………… It's  me."

A long silence follows. You just hear him breathe through the phone.  

"Dean!?"

"Yes… I'm sorry, it's just-"

"How are you?" you cut him.

"I'm not sure… Right now I have no idea. You?" he asks.

"I've been better. Had some shit time lately."

"I need to talk to you," he hastens to say. "I booked a room in another hotel in case you chose to call me, so we could meet without taking the risk that another actor learns that you are here.."

You bite down your lower lip. "I don't know if it's a good idea."

"Come to see me. It's safe. Nobody will know. I just want to see you… please… "

You heave a loud sigh and surrender. "Fine… what's the address?" you say, grabbing a pen.

***

It's snowing outside now and the city resembles the movie set of a modern fairy tale. As you hail a cab, you wonder if it's going to drive you to your own happily ever after.

You have taken the time to do your hair and change in the black dress you’ve been keeping for the New Year' celebrations with Jess. You want to look no less than stunning. If Dean chooses to ditch you tonight, at least, you'll have the satisfaction of knowing he did it regretting to dump such a sexy creature.

You reread the address and the room number scribbled on your hand one more time as the cabbie drops you in front of the Hilton Hotel on the 14th street. You cross the lobby of the hotel, making sure not to make eye contact with anybody and you walk straight to the elevators. Logically, the room 233 is on the second floor.

You take a deep breath when the metallic door opens into an empty corridor. The thick carpet swallows the sound of your footsteps. You’ve finally arrived in front of the right room's door and you don't give yourself a second to think, because if you do, you'll probably be back in the cab before having the courage to knock.

Three short knocks and you immediately hear some shuffling inside the room.

All of your blood leaves your body in order to go into your feet when he opens the door. He has removed his suit jacket. His bowtie loosened up and hanging each side of his white shirt's collar.

You look at each other with wide eyes. You try to smile but fail.

Here he is, it's really him: your golden teddy bear, your lion prince: It's been so long. Can you still refer to him as "yours"? Even if he doesn't have a girlfriend, which you're not really sure about right now, there is still a chance he has changed.

The first thing you notice is that he is definitely thinner. He has lost weight. You can see on his face that it's been a difficult year for him as well. You don't take any satisfaction from it.

He says your name: his expression unreadable - something between shyness and embarrassment. "You look great," he blurts out, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you want to come in?"

You clear your throat. "Well I guess it's a better idea than staying in the corridor," you point out in a poor attempt at some kind of humor to ease the tense atmosphere.

"Yeah, yes. Of course. Sorry," he apologizes, stepping aside to let you in. "I'm already acting like an idiot: that's not a good start."

You don't reply and look around the room, uneasy. What should you do? Hug him? Kiss him? Shake his hand?  Take a seat? Yell at him? Undress? Run away? Right now: the last option is the most interesting.

"Do you want something to drink?" he offers, taking your coat from your hands and putting it on the edge of the bed.

"No thanks," you reply with a forced smile.

"In fact, I don't know why I even said that because I don't have anything to offer you except water from the bathroom's tap," he corrects.

"That's fine."  

You sit down in an armchair, uptight, as if you were in the dentist's waiting room. Where is this sensation of calm happiness and comfort you used to feel in his presence? Is it gone forever? You feel the telltale tickle in your nose that announces upcoming tears. This is not how you imagined your reunion at all, and god knows you imagined it many times.

He drags the other armchair closer to yours and he sits down, facing you. He looks concerned, nervous and probably as uncomfortable as you are. "I didn't expect to find you here tonight. When I saw you in the crowd: I thought I would pass out. That's not very manly, is it?"

"I felt the same when I saw you," you admit. "It was a shock." You cough. "Well I knew you'd be there, obviously, but still…" You don't know what to say so you fall quiet.  

He chuckles but there is no humor in that laugh. "Well, I haven't changed that much, have I?"

You don't know what to reply to that. Has he changed? That's hard to tell.  

There is a long silence, until Dean shifts on his chair and speaks again. "I had interviews in Wellington a few weeks ago and…" He pauses and hesitates. "I don't know what got into me, but I went to your flat.  I really wanted to see you and I wasn't really thinking."

Your heartbeat accelerates at those words and a weird sadness invades your veins like a slow poison. There is compassion laced with it, because you understand what could have been the thoughts and the emotions that had pushed him to do that.  

"I don't live there anymore," you inform him.

"I know. I went knocking and the people living there now said you moved."  He runs a hand in his hair. "Are you… are you… living with someone at the moment?"

"Yes," you reply, "a cute brunet with hazel eyes."

Dean looks so devastated that you suddenly regret your cruel joke. He looks at the carpet and you see his Adam apple bob as he gulps. "Do I know him?"

"Yes. His name's Juan Hunter," you specify, to take the poor man out of his misery.

His blue eyes lighten up when he understands. "Oh. You're living at Stephen's place!?"

"Yes. I moved there after you left. I didn't want to be alone." It's your turn to look down and feel your eyes misting with tears again.

Suddenly, he is in front of you, kneeling on the carpet and he takes your hands in his. "Did you read my letter: the one on the USB device?"

"Yes. I read it a few days ago: that's what made me come here."  A tear rolls on your cheek. "But a year passed since you wrote it, Dean. You probably don't feel the same anymore and-"

"I still think everything I wrote in there," he cuts you off, "every word, I still feel them. There's been nobody else for me," he assures you, caressing your wet cheek with the back of his hand, searching your gaze with his. "I still have your photo in my wallet. I kiss it goodnight everyday like the pathetic, lovesick man I am, even after all these months without you."  

"Don't do that to me, Dean…" you sob, shaking your head and overwhelmed by the rush of contradictory emotions. "I can't have you back just to lose you all over again."

"I can't lose you again either," he says, helping you up and drawing you closer to him. You let him cup your face in his hands. "Please, let me kiss you," he begs, looking into your eyes. " Just give me one more night, babe."

It's just now that you understand just how much you missed him physically. The touch of his hands, his smell… He licks his lips slowly and you know you're lost - these lips that are slowly getting closer to yours: you know by instinct they would fit so perfectly on your mouth.

And they do. They really do.

When he finally kisses you: it tears a desperate whimper from your throat and you let go without hesitation. His lips, his tongue: they are soft, and the kiss is so sensual. It tastes like the sweetest fruit of Eden garden. You're Eve and he is the serpent: that creature of sin and temptation that makes you lose your mind and forget all common sense.

You don't want to hurt yourself more than you already are, but even if your mind tells you to be prudent, you're a slave to the lustful impulse driving you toward his body like a magnet to pure steel: like a moth to a flame. The kiss grows more passionate as a wild fire devours you. Nobody ever kissed you like that before: with such daring adoration.

You'll die if you let him make love to you, but you'll die even more if you don't. You're going to have sex with him, because it's just how things are. You'll probably regret it in the morning, but it's going to happen anyway. You grasp his shoulders and know that for the rest of the night, you won't let him go anywhere else than where your skins are touching.

You are kissing and undressing each other with such hunger, like you haven't seen the other for decades, still, it's like you never parted at all. It feels natural as you fall back in familiar sensations, touches, gestures and caresses.

"Dean… Dean… " you repeat as he guides you to the bed, undoing your bra and not ceasing to kiss your neck, your shoulders and your face with devotion. You repeat his name to reconnect the sound of it to the sensation of his body against yours - to erase all the angst these four letters mean and give them back their true meaning. This is the name of the man who holds your heart: your lover your soulmate. You unbutton his dress shirt and you feel that uncontrolled wave of lust pushing you into his arms as you tumble together on the mattress. You let your lips wander on his strong chest, on the golden fur that covers it. That warm expanse of delicious flesh; it has a taste and a smell so virile it makes you moan just from that. He is as greedy as you are: eyes sparkling and dark. The most innocent caresses draw the filthiest moans from his throat. You get him completely naked and revel in the work of art he is as he lies on his back on the mattress. You ponder that you didn't remember that his skin was so silky. You trail hungry kisses lower and lower on his stomach. You press your lips to his thigh. It makes your mouth water and wakes up your strongest instincts. The hard, warm shaft, offered there for your mouth and hand, resting in a tuft of ginger curls: it's too tempting to resist. You would be lying if you pretended you didn't miss that part of his body as well.

"Jeezus…" he hisses when you palm his cock and put a kiss at the tip of it. "You have a man here who had his right hand for only company for a year," he apologizes, dragging you up and into his arms. "I'm not going to last long if you treat me like that."

You feel a burst of joy to hear him repeat that he's been faithful to you for all those months of loneliness. He could have searched for comfort somewhere else: and he hasn't.  

It's his turn to claim your body and reconquer his territory as his hands travel on your skin, eliciting all kinds of exquisite sensations. "I dreamt of that: I dreamt of your body… every.fucking.night," he groans. "Hmmm," you purr as he nibbles your skin in the crook of your neck.    

"I don't have condoms," he realizes suddenly. "Do you have one?"  

"No need, baby," you reassure him, "I'm still on the pill and there wasn’t anybody else for me in the last year, so it's all safe. Since the second we met: there has been no one else for me," you pant.  

"I love you so much," he whispers, kissing you gently, but your beautiful angel seems a bit insecure for a second as he puts his arm under the small of your back. "I'll do my best to make it good, babe," he says, all pitiful, "but since I haven't had a woman for the last twelve months, I'm afraid I won't last long."

"I don't care about that, Dean. I just want you," you beg him and he complies right away. You throw your head back and arch your spine, crying out as he penetrates you deeply. You missed this sensation: you missed him so much.  

He simply stays there, motionless for a little while, lavishing your neck and shoulders with sweet, caring lips. "I needed that," he quakes, delighted, "I missed being inside you. I missed the smell of you and how you look at me when I'm making love to you," he says starting to move his hips in slow rolls.  

You run your hands up and down his warm back as you look into your lover's eyes, and without warning, your tears start rolling down your cheeks again.

His expression shifts from pleasure to worry in a split second. "Are you fine? Am I hurting you? Do you want me to stop?"

"No, I'm sorry. Please, my love, don't stop," you urge him. "It's just that I'm so happy and this feels so good… you have no idea," you smile through your tears. "Just do me, Dean."  

He kisses the tears off your face and claims you back with the strength of a man who knows that you're his and he is yours. It's raw, it's shameless; it's urgent and animal. You whole body is just screaming for it. And to be honest, no man ever managed to turn you on like Dean O'Gorman does, so right now you're pretty much insane with pleasure. As the gentleman he’s always been, your lover makes sure to bring you to completion (which is not much of a challenge giving how aroused you are) before letting go and taking his pleasure with you, as you hold on to his whole body, just insanely happy to be allowed to hold him into your arms.

***

"Can we make the time stop and just stay hidden together in this hotel room forever?" you ask your lover, nuzzling his collarbone.

"That would be perfect," he sighs, bringing your hand to his mouth and placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles. "Trust me; I don't want to go back to that miserable life."

"Miserable?" you ask him. You know exactly what he means. But you are concerned for him and it's because you care for him that you need to know what he's been through.

He rolls onto his side to look at you properly. He plays with you hair absentmindedly for a few seconds before speaking.  "During the first weeks after the end of the shooting, every evening around seven, Batman was seating next to the front door and waiting. It was approximately the hour when you used to join me at my place after work," he narrates. "It was getting me down to see him waiting for you. I don't know if he would've understood if I had explained to him. I didn't want to tell him 'she won't come back, you know,' because I was as deep in denial as this dog. He stopped doing it the day I allowed him to sleep with me in my bed. It was an arrangement that suited both of us. That way, the bed seemed a bit less big and empty to me, and Batman was getting the attention he was seeking.  I think we looked a bit pathetic," he chuckles, "two old bachelors trying to soothe their heartache."

"That's not pathetic, love," you breathe, "I tried my best to move on and forget you, but I haven't been able to, never completely."

"I did stupid things to try to numb the pain," he confesses. "When the realization struck me that I had only survived to four long months, that there were still thirty-two to go until I was allowed to see you again, and that it was probably over between us anyway, I went out with Emmett, Jared and Ben and I got so drunk they had to carry me home and into my bed like a sixteen-year-old who doesn't hold his drinks."

You place your hands each side of his face. "I'm so sorry you went through this. I don't want you- I don't want us to suffer that way again." You trace the beautiful lines of his face with your fingertips and rest your forehead to his. "What are we doing now? I don't want to be back to the mess I was when we got separated. I don't think I can endure it one more time… and there is still two years to go."

"There is no way I want to live that again either," he agrees. "I love you and I need you, baby, and I'm ready to do anything to fulfill that dream."

"Like what?"

He pulls away softly and he looks serious. "When I came to your apartment… there was actually something I wanted to tell you about. I had a private conversation with Jared's sister Tanya. She is a lawyer in Auckland. I explained our situation. I told her everything and asked her if there was a way for us to override the clauses of the contract we signed."

"And what did she say?" you ask, propping yourself up on your elbow, suddenly hopeful that there could be a solution.

"She thinks that the contracts the production made us sign are probably more of an intimidation manoeuvre than anything else. Tanya said that the production would most likely apply other kind of sanctions than actually prosecuting us. In regard of human rights and all, it would be tricky for them to prosecute two people who only want to be a couple. But she said that we would still take a risk by breaking the contracts because they could get us on other clauses."

"And what would happen then?" you ask, biting the nail of your forefinger.

"The worst scenario that could happen is that the production finds a way to sue the hell out of our arses. Then I would plead guilty. This way they wouldn't be able to do anything against you, because I would have admitted being the one responsible for having gotten in contact with you. If I lose, I will have to pay them compensation and if I can't pay, Tanya said that I could be sentenced to a maximum of six months of prison."

You shake your head frantically at the idea of your boyfriend behind the bars: his career surely ruined. "No, " you object, "that's not possible: I can't let you take that risk-"

"Don't you understand, baby?" he cuts you off, cupping your face in his hands and urging you to look into his eyes. "Six months is nothing compared to two more years without you. It's a risk I'm ready to take. Being in jail is surely merrier than what I lived in the last year."

"Oh Dean," you whisper, petting his hair, "you are the cutest, always my knight in shining armor…. but it's too dangerous…I really can't let you do that."

"This is the catastrophe scenario: I'm positive it won't come to that. I'm sure they will only erase Fili a few more scenes during the montage, not invite me to the premieres anymore: something like that. And to be honest, I don't really care. All I want is to have the woman I love by my side. These things: they only seem to me like small bumps on the road as long as you're on the passenger's seat."

You hiccup, let out a loud sob and kiss him hard on the mouth.

You dry a tear from your cheek. "Did you just made me cry again with a freaking cheesy car metaphor?" you complain.

"I'm afraid I did," he smiles.

You suddenly feel that it's possible. Come what may: you will face it together, like you always did. Why should it be different now? Gandalf of Boston was right: if you really want it, nothing can prevent you from being together.

You grab his face and proceed to cover it with kisses, especially the dimple on his right cheek that just hollows even more because he is grinning at you sudden cuddle attack.

"What are you doing?" he chuckles.

"Kissing your dimple, obviously," you reply between pecks on his cheek," the legend says that women fell into these dimples and their bodies were never found."

"Oh. I'm the stuff of nightmare, am I?" he laughs.

"You've been the stuff of my daydreams since the day we met," you reply, letting your head fall on the pillow again.  

He touches your chin and your lips but there I a hint of apprehension in his eyes. "I just want to be sure you know what you're signing up for. Being with an actor is not always easy, babe," he warns you. "Sometimes I'm going to have to leave again for acting jobs: for weeks, sometimes for months. You'll see me kissing and pretending to have sex with other women on screen… "

"I love you Dean, "you assure him, "and as long as you love me back, I can handle the downsides of being with an actor. Your life's mine if you'd have me."

"I was hoping you would say that," he says, rolling on top you. You look at each other before he kisses you, slowly at first, but it soon becomes torrid. You grind your hips against his, feeling his growing erection against your inner thigh. It makes you moan with need, but before it could get further, he stops you. "I have an urgent matter to sort out first," he apologizes, "but once it's done, I'm going to make love to you again, promise."

"What is that important matter?" you ask as your lover reaches for his suitcase at the side of the bed and takes his laptop out of it. He sits with his back resting to the wall and you curl up against him to look at the screen, curious.

I'm purchasing a plane ticket to bring you back to New Zealand with me tomorrow night," he states, clicking on the link to the airline company's website. "Look, there are still available seats in my row, there's even a place by my side."

"Do I really have a place by your side?" you ask, thinking of a different matter than the plane tickets.

His mouth smiles softly as he keeps on navigating on the website, but his eyes are serious. "You always did. You had your name written on that seat all along." And you know he isn't talking about the plane either.

Once he is done, he puts the laptop back in its transportation bag.

He lies back on the bed and takes you in his arms.

"We'll soon be home, my love," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead.  

You close your eyes and lean further into the warm embrace. "I'm already home."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay in tune for the epilogue ; )
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you liked it! :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	19. Epilogue  -  Donkey's years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the last time I update that fic I began two years ago, when I barely knew how to write in English.  
> It's been a long ride and this ending is a bit bittersweet to me. 
> 
> thanks from the bottom of my heart to Katyushha who accompanied me for this journey. I don't know how to thank you enough, love. xxx

_Three years later …_

 

You are about to open the fridge and grab a snack when you hear a new message popping in your skype chat box. You walk back to the table and your laptop. It's from Ryan.

RyanKT– I didn't get your response to the invitation yet and I was wondering what was going on.

You sigh, sit down and click on the video call. You prefer to explain the situation to him in person rather than writing it or texting him. A few seconds later, his smiling face appears on the screen.

"Hey darling!" he chimes. "How are you?!"

"I'm fine, thanks," you smile.  

"Listen, I don't want to be pushy or anything," he says right away, "but Adam and I have to plan everything and if we don't know how many people are going to be there, it's a bit difficult," he tells you with an apologetic look.

"That's fine, I understand," you reassure him. "I'm sorry it takes us so long to reply. I'm still trying to convince Dean."

"He doesn't want to come?" Ryan asks you with a disappointed frown.

"No! Of course he does! He'd love to be there, really! He wouldn't want to miss your wedding. He is really happy for you two. It's just that he is all fussy about my… situation. He is somehow convinced that a seven months pregnant woman on a plane flight is about the same as locking her up with a starving T-Rex.  I have to convince him I'm not going to explode or shatter in pieces and that I can handle a trip to England."

"Oh. Well, if you think it would be too dangerous or difficult for you, I understand completely," your friend assures you.

"I'm going to be fine, really," you object. " Now I just have to make my boyfriend believe it as well. I'm working on it.  I really want to see you guys. It'll be fun. It seems like it's been donkey's years since the last time we were all together. "  

"If it can help you convince Dean, you can always tell him that Aidan and Sarah already confirmed their presence."

"Yeah!? That's genius! I can always bait him with the promise of sweet bromance," you chuckle. "Is Jess going to be there?" you inquire.

"Yeah, she is coming with her boyfriend," he replies casually.

You never told Ryan you knew about his short affair with Jess. First of all, it's not your business, and anyway, as soon as the third movie had been on theater screens, Adam took a plane to Australia to propose to the love of his life. And of course: Ryan said yes.

Jess has a boyfriend as well for a few months now. You didn't meet him yet, but from what she told you: he is a camera operator she met on a movie set.

Your brunette friend is not working as a PA anymore. She went back to university and now studies to become an elementary school teacher. Quite a change of career orientation compared to what she was doing before, but she seems happy about it and it's all that counts.

You chat with Ryan some more and once the conversation is over, you wish him a good night. "I'm going to give you a real reply within two days," you promise him before hanging up.

With this unexpected call, you haven't eaten your snack yet and you may not be a T-Rex yourself, but you really are starving by now. After all, you are eating for two these days. You take grapes from the fridge and when you turn around to take a bowl from the cupboard, you walk into Batman seated on the kitchen floor and looking at you, wagging his tail. The sound of the fridge door called him like a siren's song.

"Grapes are not good for dogs," you tell him. "Do you want kidney failure?"

He wags his tail again, hopeful.

"No, trust me; you really don't want kidney failure."

Carrying your bowl of grapes with one hand and rubbing your small baby bump with the other, you walk back to the dining room table. You sit down and eat your grapes absentmindedly, petting Batman. The threat of organ failure apparently didn't discourage him from begging for a bit of whatever you are eating.  Batman is both cute and persistent. It reminds you of someone else…

And it's actually Batman who was the first one to notice you were pregnant: licking your belly through your clothes and resting his big head against it gently whenever he could. It was something he didn't use to do before and both Dean and you found it strange, but without giving it much thought. That's only when you ran a test that you understood why he was doing that.

Your pregnancy was not exactly planned. Apparently the pill hadn't worked for some reasons, but while it was a surprise, it was not an unpleasant one. There is never an ideal time to conceive a baby and the look in Dean's eyes when you told him he was going to be a dad told you that everything was going to be alright.

Now you have to show him he doesn't have to keep you under a glass bell.

Speaking of the devil, you hear footsteps in the stairs and you boyfriend's voice calls your name. "You have to see this!" he says, walking up to you and putting the New-Zealand Herald in front of you on the table. "It seems that there is still justice in this world."

You look at the headline of the article he is pointingwith his forefinger: _A New-Zealander Arrested on The Set of an American Movie in Spain_. You read rapidly to find who the article is talking about and you finally find the information you’ve been seeking: _Gre_ _ta Campbell, forty-three: arrested for breach of trust, harassment and misappropriation of funds._

"It serves her right. Apparently, other people had enough and chose to speak," you observe. "It's just a shame she didn't get arrested before she could damage your career," you add, looking at your partner sadly.

"She wasn't the only one to pull the strings on The Hobbit," he says, sitting down at the table beside you, "and I think I was pretty lucky that I didn't get more trouble than having my character reduced to shouting his brother's name for two movies."

"Yes," you concede, taking his hand on the table, "we've been lucky to have each other back and not end up in prison."

He smiles at you and leans down for a kiss but you let go of his hand and rest back in your chair and cross your arms. "And speaking about your career: why were you reading the paper? I thought you were reading the script I sent you a few days ago," you scold.  

"I was just taking a well-deserved break to look through the news and find something I could entertain my lovely agent with," he tells you with a wolfish grin.

"You are impossible," you chuckle fondly, leaving a soft kiss on his lips before standing up again and bringing your bowl to the kitchen. He was your boss once, but since you became his agent one year ago: you're now his. It's funny how tables turn sometimes. Life is a strange little thing. Not that he has anything to complain about, though. You proved yourself to be good at finding him interesting contracts and he knows he can get anything he wants from you with his pretty eyes.

"I wasn't kidding, you know," you tell him, rinsing the bowl in the sink. "Did you at least begin to read the script? It's been a week you procrastinate on it. They say they want you for the role and seemed pretty determined to have you. I'm actually surprised they didn't start sending me threatening emails yet."

He sighs and joins you in the kitchen. "I'm really not sure about this whole thing, babe," he confides, putting his arms around your waist from behind and caressing your belly with careful tenderness. "The project implies a five months shooting in Alaska and our baby is going to be only three months old when I'm going to have to leave. I know we need money to bring up a child, but I would want to find local things for a little while, so we wouldn't have to travel too much. I can even do shitty phone company ads. I don't mind."  

You ponder over it for a few seconds, refreshing your hands under the tap water and appreciating your lover's touch. "Just finish reading the script and think about it a bit before taking a final decision, okay?" you suggest. "It's a big production, with really big names: it could be the chance of a lifetime."

"I already had my chance of a lifetime," he whispers before placing a tender kiss in the crook of your neck, "… when I met you."

"Hmm, I love you too," you whisper, resting your back against the counter and putting your arms around his neck to kiss him softly. You never ceased to love your beautiful angel, not for a second, even during the rare times you're angry at him. The years since your reunion passed in the blink of an eye, and your attachment for the wonderful man who shares your life is getting stronger every day. "Now get back to work, you flatterer," you add, putting a playful slap on his bum.  

"Yes, master!" he teases as he walks toward the stairs leading to his office.

"Oh, Dean: about the wedding. Ryan wants a reply as soon as possible."

He stops, turns around and smiles," yes, I know. I heard your conversation. You can tell him we're going to be there. I know how important it is for you. And to be honest, I'm dying to see everybody again."

"Thanks, love," you grin.

You let out an excited exclamation as soon as your boyfriend is out of sight, but he must have heard you because he chuckles fondly from the top of the staircase.

You hasten to go back to your laptop to send a reply to Ryan. You notice that you have a new message in your inbox and choose to answer it before. Work is always the priority.

It's an email from the production that sent you the script Dean is supposed to be reading right now. From the start, they seemed pretty confident that he would accept the role, but, as you open the message, you hope they didn't give up on him already and you also wonder how you're going to tell them that your actor is not that enthralled by their offer.

Your eyes widen progressively as you scan the few lines of the email:

 

_We would like Mr. O'Gorman to give us a definitive answer before Friday, and in case he would accept to work for us, we would arrange a meeting with our casting agent here in Auckland so Mr. O'Gorman could choose a Personal Assistant for the oversea shooting. We already received several interesting CVs we'd like him to consider…_

 

 

No. No way is this going to happen. You don't even read the rest of the email and just open a new page. Your reply is laconic:

_I am in deep regret to inform you that Dean has to decline your generous offer of a job for personal and familial reasons._

_Best Regards_

You write your name at the bottom of the page and send it right away.

 

"DEAN!? BABY!?" You shout for him to hear you from the second floor.

"Yes!?" he worries, running down the stairs.  

"I have good news for you: you don't have to read that script anymore."

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you guys who read it, put kudos on it and special thanks to those who commented it. This is your last chance to do so. So if you had fun reading it, please take 1 minute of your time to drop me a line. 
> 
> I love you all and I will miss you. 
> 
> Maybe it's not the last Dean/reader fic I write.... one must never say never.


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